THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 

PAUL  TURNER,  U.S.M.C.R. 

KILLED  IN  ACTION,  SAIPAN 

JUNE,  1944 


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http://www.arGhive.org/details/conradinquestofOOmerriala 


Conrad  in  Quest  of  His  Youth 


Br  LEONARD  MERRICK 

THE    POSITION    OF   PEGGY 
CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH 
THE  MAN  WHO  UNDERSTOOD  WOMEN: 

STORIES 
WHISPERS  ABOUT  WOMEN  :  STORIES 
LYNCH'S  DAUGHTER 
THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  GOOD 
THIS    STAGE    OF  FOOLS 
CYNTHIA 
ONE    MAN'S    VIEW 
THE    ACTOR    MANAGER 
THE   WORLDLINGS 

WHEN  LOVE  FLIES  OUT  O'  THE  WINDOW 
THE    QUAINT    COMPANIONS 

Several  of  Mr.  Merrick's  books  are  at 
present  unpublished  in  America.  Mitchell 
Kennerley  will  publish  new  volumes  from 
time  to  time. 


CONRAD 

IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

AN   EXTRAVAGANCE   OF   TEMPERAMENT 


BY 

LEONARD   MERRICK 


^umJe   O.     Sonje^ 


MITCHELL   KENNERLEY 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

MCMXI 


COPYRIGHT,     1911 
BY    MITCHELL    KENNERLE7 


CONRAD 

IN   QUEST   OF   HIS   YOUTH 

CHAPTER    I 

"  How  we  laughed  as  we  laboured  together ! 

How  well  I  remember,  to-day, 
Our  '  outings  '  in  midsummer  weather, 

Our  winter  delights  at  the  play! 
We  were  not  over-nice  in  our  dinners; 

Our  '  rooms  '  were  up  rickety  stairs ; 
But  if  hope  be  the  wealth  of  beginners, 

By  Jove,  we  were  all  millionaires! 
Our  incomes  were  very  uncertain. 

Our  prospects  were  equally  vague; 
Yet  the  persons  I  pity  who  know  not  the  city, 

The  beautiful  city  of  Prague !  " 

If  you  can  imagine  the  lonely  shade  of  the  man 
who  wrote  that  verse  returning  to  Literary  Lon- 
don —  where  there  is  no  longer  a  young  man  who 
could  write  it,  and  merely  a  few  greybeards  are 
left  still  to  understand  what  it  means  —  I  say,  if 
you  can  imagine  this,  you  may  appreciate  the 
condition  of  Conrad  when  he  went  back  to  the 
Quartier  Latin. 

Conrad  was  no  less  sad,  his  disappointment  was 
no  less  bitter,  the  society  that  he  had  sought  so 


Q4  n^r^Qry 


6  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

eagerly  was  no  less  alien  to  him.  But  while  he 
commanded  bocks  for  all,  and  mourned  the  change 
that  left  him  desolate,  the  melancholy  of  his  mood 
was  a  subtler  thing  —  for  he  realised  that  the  pro- 
foundest  change  was  in  himself. 

Something  should  be  said  of  the  longings  that 
had  brought  him  back  to  the  Quarter  —  longings 
in  one  hour  tender,  and  in  the  next  tempestuous  — 
something  hinted  of  the  regretful  years  during 
which  his  limbs  reposed  in  an  official  chair  while 
his  mind  flew  out  of  the  official  window  to  places 
across  the  sea  where  he  had  been  young,  and  san- 
guine, and  infinitely  glad.  To  a  score  of  places  it 
flew,  but  to  none  perhaps  so  often  as  Paris,  where 
he  had  studied  art  in  the  days  when  he  meant  to 
move  the  world. 

Of  course  the  trouble  with  the  man  was  that 
he  wanted  to  be  nineteen  again,  and  did  n't  recog- 
nise it.  We  do  not  immediately  recognise  that 
our  youth  is  going  from  us;  it  recedes  stealthily, 
like  our  hair.  For  a  long  time  he  had  missed  the 
zest,  the  sparkle,  the  buoyancy  from  life,  but  for 
the  flatness  that  distressed  him  he  blamed  the  Col- 
ony instead  of  his  age.    He  confused  the  emotions 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  7 

of  his  youth  with  the  scenes  where  he  had  felt 
them,  and  yearned  to  make  sentimental  journeys, 
fancying  that  to  revisit  the  scenes  would  be  to 
recover  the  emotions. 

Because  the  office  rewarded  his  mental  flights 
ungenerously  he  was  restrained  by  one  of  those 
little  realities  which  vulgar  novelists  observe  and 
which  are  so  out  of  place  in  novels  —  "  sordid  " 
considerations,  like  ways  and  means.  Give  us  lots 
of  Blood,  and  the  dummy  over  the  dashing  high- 
wayman's shoulder  I  If  you  call  him  a  "  cavalier  '* 
it 's  Breezy  Romance. 

And  then  his  Aunt  Tryphena  died,  and  left  him 
everything. 

At  once  he  was  lord  of  himself.  Liberated  by 
"  everything,"  he  sailed  for  Home,  and  savouring 
the  knowledge  that  he  was  free  to  rove  where  he 
listed,  lingered  In  London.  Some  months  after- 
wards —  when  the  crocuses  were  perking  behind 
the  Park  rails,  and  Piccadilly  was  abloom  with  the 
first  millinery  of  spring  —  he  travelled  to  Dover, 
en  route  for  the  Past. 

And  lilac  was  everywhere  —  Paris  was  all  lilac 
and  sunshine.    He  drove  to  an  hotel  on  the  left 


8  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

bank.  To  behold  It  again!  The  grotesque  clock 
under  the  glass  shade,  and  the  clothes  pegs  that 
were  too  large  to  hang  clothes  on,  the  scarlet 
edredon  that  he  would  throw  on  the  floor  before 
he  got  into  bed,  the  sight  of  these  things  was  sweet 
to  him  as  the  welcome  of  a  woman  is  sweet  after 
a  passage  made  on  a  slow  steamer  to  reach  her 
side. 

He  said  to  the  femme  de  chambre  —  she  was 
elderly  and  she  was  plain;  pretty  chambermaids 
are  all  employed  in  farcical  comedies;  but  she 
was  a  femme  de  chambre,  and  he  felt  communica- 
tive. He  said,  "  La  derniere  fois  que  j'etais  a 
Paris,  j'etais  un  gamin."  She  smiled  and  gave  a 
shrug:  "  Monsieur  n'est  qu'un  enfant  aujourd'hui." 
What  English  servant  would  have  earned  that 
tip?  .  .  .  Oh,  yesl  English  servants  are  all  too 
truthful. 

When  he  had  scattered  his  things  about  the 
room,  he  strode  out  to  seek  the  little  restaurant 
where  the  dinners  had  been  so  good,  and  the  com- 
pany had  been  so  witty  years  before.  Well,  it  had 
vanished.  Perhaps  he  wasn't  surprised,  but  he 
loitered  wistfully  in  the  street  from  which  the 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  9 

faded  sign  had  gone,  and  at  the  flashy  establish- 
ment where  he  dined  instead,  the  plats  lacked 
flavour. 

By-and-by  he  sauntered  along  the  Boul'  Mich'. 
While  he  walked  he  perceived  that  he  had  ceased 
to  look  about  him,  and  was  again  looking  back. 
The  sigh  of  names  that  had  been  long  forgotten 
was  in  the  plaintive  night,  and  the  air  was  thick 
with  echoes.  He  moved  along  the  lamp-lit  boule- 
vard seeing  ghosts,  and  to  right  and  left  the  heed- 
less faces  of  the  fleshly  crowd  were  strange  to  him. 
All  strange  to  him.  This  was  the  first  impediment 
in  his  road. 

"  Gay  Paree  "  is  gayest  in  the  doggerel  of  the 
English  music-halls;  its  gaiety  is  declining  fast, 
but  its  beauty  is  fadeless.  No  city  goes  to  bed 
more  worldly,  and  wakes  up  looking  more  inno- 
cent. At  six  o'clock  next  day,  when  they  began  to 
beat  carpets,  and  Conrad  flung  the  windows  wide, 
some  of  the  happiness  of  the  wakened  capital's 
simplicity  was  breathed  into  his  heart.  And  his 
fervour,  and  his  purse,  overcame  the  first  impedi- 
ment. Within  a  week  of  his  arrival  he  had  already 
been  called  "  Mon  cher." 


10  CONRAD   IN    QUEST  OF    HIS   YOUTH 

He  was  called  "  Mon  cher,"  and  other  things. 
He  puffed  his  "  caporal  "  at  the  Cafe  Vachette, 
and  found  that  he  had  lost  his  relish  for  French 
tobacco;  he  sat  among  the  cards  and  the  domi- 
noes at  the  Cafe  d'Harcourt  —  bought  carnations 
and  ecrevisses  from  the  pedlars'  baskets  for  An- 
gele  and  Suzanne;  and  Angele  and  Suzanne 
proved  witless  compared  with  what  their  mothers 
had  been,  gnd  he  noted  —  not  without  some  slight 
pride,  for  we  are  all  patriotic  abroad  —  that 
though  the  art  of  tying  a  veil  has  been  granted 
to  French  women,  the  pretty  features  have  been 
granted  to  the  English. 

It  was  now  that  the  disappointment  fell,  now 
that  he  cried :  — 

"  *  Oh  for  one  hour  of  youthful  joy! 
Give  back  my  twentieth  spring! 


>  >» 


The  ardour  of  the  students  left  him  chilly,  the  rod- 
omontades of  his  compatriots  sounded  merely 
stupid.  They  were  all  going  to  sacrifice  them- 
selves for  an  ideal,  all  going  to  England  to  paint 
persistently  the  class  of  work  that  England  did 
not  want.     "  No  concessions  "  was  their  battle 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  II 

cry.  Youth  can  never  believe  that  It  will  live  to 
make  concessions.  Your  adept  finds  nowhere  so 
scathing  a  critic  as  your  novice. 

O  beautiful  time  when  he,  too,  had  imagined  he 
was  born  with  a  mission!  Bright  morning  when 
he  had  vapoured  with  the  vainest  I  This  afternoon 
the  Rapsodie  Anglaise  was  played  to  duller  ears. 
The  freaks  seemed  joyless,  and  he  said  the  aspi- 
rations were  "  out  of  drawing."  He  was  not  sure 
that  it  was  of  immense  importance  whether  one 
painted  well,  or  ill  —  whether  one  painted  at  all. 
There  were  more  useful  things  to  be  done  in  the 
world.  He  did  not  wish  to  do  them,  but  he  sug- 
gested that  they  were  there.  Then  the  audience 
hurled  passages  from  the  preface  to  "  Mademoi- 
selle de  Maupin  "  at  him  —  without  acknowledg- 
ment—  pelting  him  with  the  paragraphs  full  of 
shoes  and  potatoes  until  he  was  dizzy,  and  per- 
haps a  little  shaken.  After  all,  when  one  has 
failed  to  pluck  the  grapes  it  is  easy  to  proclaim 
that  potatoes  are  more  nourishing.  On  the  whole 
he  was  scarcely  a  success  in  the  Quarter  —  a  suc- 
cess of  curiosity  at  most  —  and  he  won  no  con- 
verts to  his  theory  (advanced  in  the  Soleil  D'Or) 


la  CONRAD   IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

that  the  greatest  services  to  modern  art  were  ren- 
dered by  the  writers  of  ladies'  fashion  articles. 

"  They  are  the  Teachers  who  make  the  widest 
school,"  he  urged.  "  Under  their  influence  the 
fairest  work  of  Nature  takes  an  added  loveliness. 
To  them  we  owe  the  enticements  of  the  tea-gown, 
the  soul-compelling  whisper  of  the  silk  petticoat. 
What  other  apostle  of  Beauty  can  hope  to  shed 
beauty  in  every  home?  Into  how  many  homes 
do  you  suppose  your  ballades  will  go?  "  He  was 
chatting  to  a  poet.    But  the  poet  became  diffuse. 

Conrad  returned  to  his  hotel  not  wholly  dissat- 
isfied with  the  impression  he  had  made  upon  the 
poet.  In  la  Rue  du  Haut-Pave  he  had  one  or  two 
vigorous  thoughts  concerning  the  vanity  of  versi- 
fication which  he  wished  had  occurred  to  him  in 
the  cabaret,  and  when  he  had  lit  the  lamp  he  began 
to  write.  You  can  know  very  little  about  him  if 
you  are  surprised  to  be  told  that  what  he  wrote 
was  verse.  It  was  of  course  a  monody  to  his 
Boyhood. 

As  his  age  has  not  been  stated,  and  he  had 
begun  to  deplore  it  so  much,  it  may  be  as  well  at 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST  OP    HIS   YOUTH  I3 

this  point  to  say  that  he  was  thirty-seven.  A  less 
venerable  figure  than  you  have  pictured  him,  per- 
haps, despite  the  chambermaid.  There  were, 
however,  hours  when  he  felt  a  hundred. 

He  felt  a  hundred  towards  the  close  of  his  stay 
in  Paris.  He  had  resolved  to  go  back  to  London, 
but  it  had  few  associations  for  him,  and  he  packed 
his  portmanteaux  drearily.  On  the  evening  before 
he  crossed,  his  thoughts  flashed  to  a  little  English 
watering-place  where  he  had  spent  a  summer  when 
he  was  still  proud  of  wearing  trousers.  He  re- 
called the  moment  of  his  invitation,  the  thrill  of  its 
unexpectedness.  A  nursery,  and  four  children: 
three  of  them  his  cousins,  departing  for  the  sea- 
side next  day,  in  fancy  already  on  the  sands.  And 
one  of  the  trio  had  exclaimed  —  was  it  Ted 
who  began  it?  —  one  of  the  trio  had  exclaimed: 
"  Would  n't  it  be  jolly  if  Con  could  come  too?  " 
He  was  "  Con."  He  was  Con  hanging  over  the 
banisters  breathless  five  minutes  later,  for  Nina, 
and  'Gina,  and  Ted  had  descended  to  the  drawing- 
room  tumultuously  to  prefer  a  petition  to  "  Ma." 

"  Ma  says  there  would  n't  be  beds  enough," 
they  announced  with  long   faces,   mounting  the 


i4  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

Stairs;  and  then  he  stammered  that  he  had  "  ex- 
pected there  'd  be  something  like  that,"  and  they 
danced  round  him  in  a  ring,  crying:  "We  made 
it  up.  You're  to  come  with  us  if  you  may  — 
you  're  to  go  home  and  ask." 

The  nursery  was  very  clear  to  him.  He  saw  the 
gleeful  group  on  the  threshold  again,  and  the 
bright  pattern  of  the  wall-paper.  He  could  see 
thte  open  window  with  the  radiant  sky  across  the 
roofs. 

So  they  had  all  gone  to  the  seaside  together  — 
he,  and  Nina,  and  'Gina,  and  Ted,  in  charge  of 
the  governess;  and  the  house  had  turned  out  to 
be  a  school  called  "  Mowbray  Lodge,"  but  the 
boys  were  away.  Jack,  the  dog,  had  been  lost 
on  the  journey — and  killed  the  schoolmaster's 
chickens  when  he  was  restored.  The  rows  there 
used  to  be  with  the  master  1  Mr.  Boultbee,  that 
was  his  name.  There  was  a  yellow  field  blazing 
with  dandelions,  Conrad  remembered,  and  behind 
the  shadow  of  the  fir  trees,  apples  swayed.  He 
remembered  the  garden  of  Rose  Villa  next  door, 
and  the  afternoon  when  Mary  Page  kissed  her 
hand  over  the  fence.    Mary  Page  I    On  a  sudden 


% 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  1 5 

how  close  it  was  —  all  except  her  features  —  her 
hat  trimmed  with  blue,  and  her  dangling  plaits, 
and  the  vibration  of  the  time.  Ted  and  he  were 
enslaved  by  her  equally  —  without  bitterness  — 
and  used  to  show  each  other  the  love-letters  she 
wrote  to  them  both  after  they  went  home.  And 
oh  I  how  they  longed  to  be  back,  and  oh,  the  plans 
they  made,  which  never  fructified,  for  husbanding 
their  pocket-money  and  taking  her  by  surprise  one 
brilliant  morning! 

"  Qu'est-ce  que  vous  m'offrez,  monsieur? 
Payez-moi  un  bock,  hein?  " 

"  No,"  said  Conrad,  starting,  "  run  along  and 
play,  there's  a  good  child!"  These  memories 
had  come  to  him  at  the  Bal  BuUier,  and  the  band 
was  banging,  and  the  petticoats  were  whirling,  and 
a  young  lady  was  asking  to  be  refreshed. 


CHAPTER   II 

She  pouted  a  protest  at  him,  and  whisked  into  the 
dance.  He  observed  that  she  had  graces,  and 
heaved  a  sigh  for  the  time  when  it  would  have 
been  piquant  to  brush  the  pout  away.  To-night  it 
would  be  tasteless.  "  Kissing  a  cocotte  is  like  eat- 
ing tinned  salmon,"  said  Conrad  to  himself  re- 
gretfully, and  went  to  the  vestiaire  for  his 
overcoat. 

The  interruption  had  jarred  him,  but  It  was  not 
until  the  Closerie  des  Lilas  was  a  hundred  yards 
behind  that  he  knew  he  had  left  the  hall  for  the 
purpose  of  resuming  his  reverie  In  comfort.  When 
he  reached  the  Boulevard  Saint-Michel  his  interest 
in  the  projects  of  five-and-twenty  years  ago  was 
again  so  keen  that  he  grieved  to  think  they  had 
been  fruitless.  Improving  on  history,  he  permitted 
the  boys  who  were  boys  no  more  to  amass  the 
sovereign  that  they  coveted,  and,  giving  his  fancy 
rein,  lived  through  the  glorious  day  which  had 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  1 7 

never  dawned.  He  tried  very  hard  to  be  fair  to 
Ted  after  Mary  had  welcomed  them,  though  to 
prevent  the  conversation  becoming  a  dualogue 
irked  him  a  good  deal.  In  moments  he  discovered 
that  he  was  talking  to  her  rather  well  for  his  age, 
and  then  he  corrected  himself  with  loving  artistry. 
But  he  could  seldom  find  it  In  his  heart  to  correct 
Mary,  and  she  said  the  prettiest  things  in  the 
world.  He  came  back  to  the  present,  swimming 
with  tenderness  for  the  little  maiden  of  his  retro- 
spect. It  shocked  him  to  reflect  that  she  must  be 
about  thirty-eight  if  she  lived  still,  and  might  even 
have  a  marriageable  daughter.  The  pathos  of  the 
marriageable  daughter  indeed  overwhelmed  him, 
and,  taking  a  seat  at  the  Taverne  du  Pantheon,  he 
pictured  himself  waking  to  realise  that  he  was  only 
twelve  years  old  and  that  all  events  subsequent  to 
the  epoch  had  been  a  dream. 

The  October  air  was  bleak  when  he  crossed  on 
the  morrow,  and  the  deck  rolled  to  meet  the 
splashes  of  the  waves.  The  idea  of  revisiting  the 
watering-place  —  and  the  idea  had  germinated  — 
attracted  him  less  forcibly  as  his  chair  played  see- 
saw with  the  taffrail,  but  he  remembered  that  he 


l8  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

had  often  been  advised  by  advertisements  "  not  to 
risk  infection  from  foreigners,  when  he  could  win- 
ter in  sunny  Sweetbay,  the  fairest  spot  in  Eng- 
land." The  fact  that  it  had  a  reputation  as  a 
winter  resort  encouraged  him  somewhat,  and  by 
the  time  he  saw  the  lamps  of  Charing  Cross  he 
felt  adventurous  again.  He  also  admired  a  girl 
on  the  platform.  '*  There  's  nothing  like  an  Eng- 
lishwoman for  beauty,"  he  said;  and  the  girl 
exclaimed :  "  Oh,  I  've  left  my  little  fur  in  my 
grip,  right  there !  " 

He  fulfilled  his  programme  the  next  morning. 
The  drowsy  station  of  Sweetbay  seemed  to  him 
larger  than  of  yore  as  he  glanced  about  him,  but 
he  did  not  stop  to  gather  information  in  the 
matter.  His  bag  was  in  the  fly,  and  he  was 
rattled  to  an  hotel  where  the  manager  appeared 
surprised  to  see  him.  Although  his  sensations 
on  the  boat  had  left  him  with  no  insistent  longing 
for  a  room  with  a  sea-view,  he  accepted  one 
without  complaint,  and  learning  that  luncheon  was 
being  served,  descended  to  where  three  despon* 
dent-looking  visitors  were  scattered  among  an  acre 
of   tables.      Evidently   people    continued   to    go 


'     CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  1 9 

abroad  in  spite  of  the  advice.    However,  he  had 
not  come  to  Sweetbay  for  society. 

It  was  a  neat  and  decorous  little  town  awaiting 
him  when  he  sallied  forth  from  the  hotel.  Every- 
thing was  very  clean,  very  tidy.  The  pink-paved 
sidewalks,  bordered  by  trees,  glistened  like  coral; 
the  snug  villas,  enclosed  by  euonymus  hedges 
trimmed  to  precision,  had  a  fresh  and  wholesome 
air,  an  air  that  made  him  think  of  honey  soap  and 
good  rice  puddings.  He  backed  before  the  walls 
of  the  Parish  Church.  A  play-bill  of  the  Rosery 
Theatre,  near  by,  seemed  an  anachronism,  and 
even  as  he  recalled  Sweetbay  it  had  been  content 
with  Assembly  Rooms.  On  a  hoarding  he  saw  a 
poster  of  the  Pier  Pavilion  —  the  pavilion  was  an 
innovation  too.  In  the  High  Street  photographs 
of  some  popular  actors  had  invaded  a  shop  win- 
dow, and  he  was  struck  by  the  extraordinary 
resemblance  they  bore  to  one  another  —  all  wear- 
ing on  the  brow  the  frown  of  intellectuality,  and 
carefully  disordered  hair.  The  Town  Hall  was  a 
landmark.  He  murmured  Matthew  Arnold's  line : 
"  Expressive  merely  of  the  impotence  of  the  archi- 
tect to   express  anything,"  but  the  unparalleled 


aO  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

Ugliness  of  the  building  warmed  him  with  recol- 
lections. He  branched  to  the  left,  as  he  used  to 
branch  to  the  left  when  he  carried  Mary's  bathing 
shoes,  and  surrendering  himself  to  sentiment  unre- 
servedly now  swung  joyously  for  Eden. 

And  from  this  point  landmarks  flocked  thick 
and  fast.  The  way  began  to  climb  the  hill,  the 
hill  began  to  show  the  boughs,  the  boughs  began 
to  veil  the  road,  the  road  began  to  woo  the  lane, 
the  lane  began  to  near  the  house,  and  —  like  the 
old  woman's  pig  —  Conrad  got  over  the  stile. 

And  "  Mowbray  Lodge  "  was  still  painted  on 
the  gate !  It  was  all  so  wonderfully  the  same  for 
a  moment  in  the  shade  behind  the  fir  trees  —  so 
wonderfully  —  that  he  felt  tearful.  The  scene 
had  stood  so  still  that  there  seemed  something 
unreal  in  his  returning  here  a  man.  Again  he  saw 
the  slender  columns  of  the  long  veranda,  and 
the  summer-house  on  which  the  weather-cock  still 
perched.  He  looked,  and  looked  wide-eyed,  at  a 
faded  door  —  not  green,  not  blue  —  and  knew 
suddenly  that  behind  that  door  there  should  be 
currant  bushes  and  a  tangle  of  nasturtium,  and 
hens  prinking  on  the  path.     His  soul  embraced 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  21 

the  scene.  And  yet  —  and  yet  it  was  not  the 
features  which  had  lived  in  his  mind  that  moved 
him  most.  The  magic  lay  in  the  pervasive  hush, 
and  in  a  gust  of  the  fir  trees'  smell,  which  he  had 
forgotten  until  it  swept  him  breathless  across  the 
years. 

Yes,  there  seemed  something  unreal  in  his 
standing  here  a  man.  His  spirit  was  listening  — 
and  he  knew  that  it  was  listening  —  for  calls  from 
children  who  had  grown  to  middle-age  now;  his 
gaze  was  waiting  —  even  he  knew  that  it  was  wait- 
ing —  for  the  rush  of  childish  figures  which  the 
scene  should  yield. 

Presently  he  sought  the  space  where  they  had 
played.  But  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold  was 
transformed.  Where  the  dandelions  had  spread 
their  splendour  for  Mary  he  saw  a  market-garden, 
and  the  sun  that  had  made  a  halo  for  Mary 
glittered  on  glass.  There  was  a  quantity  of  glass, 
there  were  consequential  rows  of  it,  all  raising 
money  for  somebody,  all  reminding  the  pilgrim 
that  meadows  move  with  the  times.  "  Well,  I 
suppose  it 's  progress,"  said  Conrad,  shaking  his 
head.     But  he  missed  the  dandelions.    He  was  a 


22  CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

Conservative  by  instinct,  though  he  was  a  Liberal 
by  reason. 

When  he  loitered  back  to  the  view  of  Mow- 
bray Lodge,  a  lady  of  the  age  which  it  is  gallant 
to  call  "  uncertain  "  had  come  out  on  the  veranda. 
She  had  a  little  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  and  in 
her  hand  she  held  a  pair  of  scissors  with  which 
she  was  clipping  a  palm.  The  placid  gaze  she 
lifted  to  him  was  not  discouraging,  and  advancing 
towards  her  with  a  bow  he  said:  — 

"  Pray  forgive  me  for  troubling  you,  but  may 
I  ask  if  Mr.  Boultbee  lives  here  now?  " 

"  N — no,"  answered  the  lady  pensively,  "  no 
gentleman  lives  here.  '  Mr.  Boultbee  '  ?  I  'm 
afraid  I  don't  know  the  name.  Are  you  sure  he 
is  still  living  in  the  town?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  nothing,"  replied  Conrad.  "  It 
is  so  long  since  my  last  visit  that  I  am  even 
doubtful  if  he  is  living  at  all." 

She  seemed  to  reflect  again  and  said:  "  Perhaps 
they  might  be  able  to  tell  you  at  the  post-office." 

"  It  really  is  n't  important,"  he  declared, 
"  though  I  'm  obliged  by  your  suggestion.  To 
confess  the  truth,  I  am  more  drawn  to  the  garden 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  23 

than  to  Mr.  Boultbee.  Years  ago  I  spent  a 
summer  here,  and  being  In  the  neighbourhood 
again  I  could  n't  resist  the  temptation  to  come 
and  dream  over  the  top  rail  of  your  gate." 

"  Oh  —  er  —  would  you  care  to  look  round  the 
place?"  she  murmured  with  a  tentative  wave  of 
the  scissors. 

"  I  should  be  charmed,"  said  Conrad,  "  if  I 
am  not  Intruding." 

"  Of  course  you  don't  see  it  to  advantage  now. 
Last  month  — "  She  moved  across  the  lawn 
beside  him,  telling  the  falsehoods  with  which 
everybody  who  has  a  garden  always  dejects  a 
visitor.  He  affected  that  thirst  for  knowledge 
with  which  everybody  who  is  shown  a  garden 
always  rewards  a  host. 

"  It 's  a  long  time  since  you  were  here,  I 
think  you  said?  "  she  remarked,  pleased  by  his 
eagerness. 

"  It  is,"  said  Conrad,  In  his  most  Byronic  man- 
ner, "  just  a  quarter  of  a  century."  The  lady 
looked  startled,  and  he  continued  with  a  sigh, 
"  Yes,  I  was  then  In  that  exquisitely  happy  period 
of  life  when  we  just  begin  to  know  that  we  are 


24  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

happy;  you  may  imagine  what  memories  are  stir- 
ring in  me :  — 

"  *  I  can  recall,  nay,  they  are  present  still. 
Parts  of  myself,  the  perfume  of  my  mind, 
Days  that  seem  farther  ofi  than  Homer's  now 
Ere  yet  the  child  had  loudened  to  the  boy  '  .  .  . 

That  poem  —  Lowell's  '  The  Cathedral '  — 
flashed  into  my  mind  as  I  came  upon  your  parish 
church  awhile  ago,  and 

"  '  gazed  abashed. 
Child  of  an  age  that  lectures,  not  creates,* 

at  its  old  honours.  I  quoted  the  best  part  of  a 
stanza  to  myself  in  the  street.  I  'm  afraid  that  is 
a  habit  of  mine." 

"It  must  be  very  nice,"  said  the  lady  apprehen- 
sively;  "  yes,  indeed." 

It  appeared  that  she  was  no  more  acquainted 
with  Lowell  than  with  Mr.  Boultbee,  so  gliding 
to  a  subject  which  lay  quite  near  his  heart  this 
afternoon  he  introduced  a  third  name. 

*'  When  I  was  here  last  a  Dr.  Page  occupied  the 
villa  across  the  fence,"  he  went  on.  "  He  had  a 
daughter.  To  be  prolix,  he  had  several  daughters, 
but  to  me  his  family  consisted  of  Miss  Mary. 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  35 

We  were  engaged.  I  won't  ask  you  if  they  are 
there  still  —  something  warns  me  that  they  arc 
not  —  but  can  you,  by  any  chance,  give  me  news 
of  them?" 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot,"  she  returned,  fluttering. 
"  There  has  been  no  Dr.  Page  in  Sweetbay  —  I 
am  almost  certain  there  has  been  no  Dr.  Page  in 
Sweetbay  since  I  settled  here.  I  am  positive  there 
Is  none  now  —  quite  positive.  There  's  Dr.  Hunt, 
there  's  Dr.  Tatham  —  "  She  recounted  labori- 
ously the  names  of  all  the  medical  men  practising 
about  the  town,  while  he  wondered  what  she  was 
doing  it  for. 

"  I  thank  you  heartily,"  he  said,  when  she 
reached  the  end  of  the  list. 

The  next  moment  it  became  evident  that  she, 
in  her  turn,  had  a  question  to  put,  for  her  glance 
was  interrogating  him  already,  and  at  last  she 
faltered :  — 

"  Pardon  my  asking  you,  but  did  I  understand 
you  to  say  that  you  were  —  h'm  —  engaged  to 
the  daughter  of  Dr.  Page  twenty-five  years  ago? 
Surely  when  you  said  you  were  a  child  then,  it  was 
no  figure  of  speech?  " 


a6  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"No,"  answered  Conrad;  "but  to  be  frank 
with  you,  it  was  nothing  less  than  the  thought  of 
her  that  lured  me  back  to-day.  Let  me  admit  that 
I  was  n't  quite  ingenuous  when  I  spoke  of  —  of 
'being'  in  the  neighbourhood;  I  came  deliber- 
ately, in  fulfilment  of  a  cherished  plan.  To  me 
your  garden  is  a  tomb  —  if  I  may  say  so  without 
depressing  you  —  it  is  the  tomb  of  the  Used-to-be. 
We  were  both  children,  but  there  are  some  things 
that  one  never  forgets :  — 

"  *  I  'm  not  a  chicken ;  I  have  seen 
Full  many  a  chill  September, 
And  though  I  was  a  youngster  then, 
That  girl  I  well  remember.' 

Holmes  wrote  '  gale,'  not  '  girl,'  otherwise  he 
might  have  been  speaking  for  me." 

"  Such  constancy  is  very  beautiful,"  breathed  the 
lady;  "  I  thought  —  "    She  paused,  slightly  pink. 

"  But  it  was  unfair,"  he  assured  her;  "  men  can 
be  quite  as  constant  as  women  —  especially  to 
the  women  they  never  won." 

"  Er  —  perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  the 
house?  "  she  inquired;  "  and  you  will  allow  me  to 
offer  you  some  tea  before  you  go?  " 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  27 

"  I  accept  both  offers  gratefully,"  said  Conrad. 

He  followed  her  into  the  hall,  and  she  conducted 
him,  with  little  prefatory  murmurs,  to  such  of  the 
apartments  as  a  maiden  lady  might  modestly  dis- 
play. Repapered  and  rearranged  they  looked 
quite  strange  to  him,  but  the  knowledge  that  he 
was  In  Mowbray  Lodge  averted  boredom. 

"  You  find  them  altered,"  she  said,  as  they  went 
back  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  Improved,"  said  he. 

"And  the  town,"  she  added;  "no  doubt  you 
find  the  town  improved  too?  " 

"  Altered,"  said  Conrad,  thinking  of  the  market 
garden.    "  Well,  it  is  certainly  bigger." 

"  The  rapid  development  of  Sweetbay  can  as- 
tonish none  who  bear  in  mind  its  remarkable 
combination  of  climatic  advantages,  but  the  sylvan 
fairness  of  the  town  is  not  diminished,  and  it  con- 
tinues to  precent  an  unrivalled  example  of  the 
*  rus  in  urbe,'  "  responded  the  lady  with  surprising 
fluency.    "  Do  you  take  sugar  and  milk?  " 

"  Ah  —  thank  you,"  he  said. 

"  Are  you  making  a  long  stay  among  us, 
or ?" 


28  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  A  very  brief  one.  Indeed,  I  thought  of  re- 
turning to-morrow." 

"  Oh!  "  There  was  a  tinge  of  disappointment 
in  her  "  Oh."  "  I  wondered  if  you  meant  to  stop. 
If  you  had  meant  to  pass  the  winter  here  —  But 
I  daresay  you  would  have  preferred  an  hotel 
anyhow?" 

*'  I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  sipping.  "  What 
is  it  you  were  going  to  be  good  enough  to 
suggest?  " 

"  It  occurred  to  me  that,  as  the  house  has  so 
many  associations  for  you,  you  might  have  liked 
to  take  it  for  a  short  term.  I  am  trying  to  let  it 
furnished  during  the  next  few  months,  and  I  could 
leave  the  servants.  My  cook  has  been  with  me 
now " 

"  You  would  let  this  house  to  me?  "  exclaimed 
Conrad,  thrilling,  and  saw  such  splendid  visions 
that  for  quite  a  minute  he  forgot  to  attend  to  her. 

"  If  the  rent  is  too  high  —  ?  "  She  was  regard- 
ing him  nervously. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  cried,  "  not  at  all.  I  was 
simply  lost  in  the  effulgent  prospect  that  you  Ve 
opened  to  me." 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  29 

"Really?" 

"  It  was  an  inspiration.  How  kind  of  you  to 
mention  it." 

She  deprecated  gratitude.  "  There  would  be 
no  children,  of  course?  "  she  said,  her  gaze  dwell- 
ing among  her  china. 

"  Four,"  he  answered  promptly.  "  That  is, 
the  youngest  must  be  about  thirty-five  now.  I  beg 
your  pardon,  but  /  have  had  an  inspiration,  too, 
I  'm  dazzled  by  the  idea  of  peopling  the  house 
with  the  men  and  women  who  were  children  here 
five-and-twenty  years  ago;  I  dare  swear  my  rela- 
tives have  never  set  foot  in  Sweetbay  since.  We  '11 
be  comrades  all  over  again  —  You  know  how 
Time  loosens  these  childish  ties  —  in  the  very 
place,  in  the  very  rooms,  where  we  were  such  com- 
rades then.  Why,  it 's  the  most  delightful  plan 
that  was  ever  hatched!  "  He  hesitated.  "  I  won- 
der if  they'll  come?  How  about  the  trains? 
One  of  my  cousins  would  have  to  go  up  rather 
often,  I  expect." 

"  The  railway  company  has  combined  with 
Mother  Nature  and  a  spirited  Corporation  to 
render  Sweetbay  attractive  to  the  jaded  Londoner. 


30  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

The  service  is  fast  and  frequent,  and  well-ap- 
pointed '  flys  '  may  be  chartered  at  most  reasonable 
fares,"  replied  his  hostess  without  an  instant's 
pause. 

"How  convenient!"  said  Conrad.  "What 
more  can  he  want?  " 

"  If  you  think  your  friends  may  need  persuasion, 
I  should  be  pleased  to  present  you  with  a  copy 
of  a  little  work  of  mine  to  send  them.  It  de- 
scribes all  the  attractions  of  the  neighbourhood  — 
and  it 's  quite  unlike  the  usual  guide-book.  It  is 
thorough,  but  chatty.  My  aim  has  been  to  inform 
the  visitor  in  a  sprightly  way." 

"  An  authoress?  "  he  said  warmly. 

"  Of  one  book  only,"  she  murmured,  her  face 
suffused  by  an  unbecoming  blush. 

"But  of  many  readers,  I'll  be  bound  I  If 
obstacles  arise  then,  it  shall  be  your  pen  that  con- 
quers them.  You  overwhelm  me  with  kindnesses. 
I  really  think,  though,  the  address  will  be  magnet 
enough  for  the  friends  I  want.  *  Mowbray  Lodge, 
Swcetbay  '  —  how  they  '11  stare  I  '  Bring  your 
spades  and  pails,'  I  shall  write;  '  come,  and  let  us 
all  be  boys  and  girls  again.'    The  girls  have  little 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  3 1 

girls  and  boys  of  their  own  now.  No,  don't  be 
afraid  of  their  smashing  that  soul-stirring  Chelsea, 
my  dear  madam  —  I  won't  have  them.  That 's 
the  essence  of  the  contract,  the  new  generation 
must  be  left  behind.  There  must  be  we  four,  and 
nobody  else  —  the  four  who  will  find  their  child- 
hood waiting  for  them  here,  just  the  four  who  can 
feel  the  enchantment  of  Mowbray  Lodge.  So 
it  is  settled?" 

"  As  far  as  —  "    She  smoothed  her  gown. 

"  Oh,  naturally  there  must  be  references,  and 
inventories,  and  all  sorts  of  tiresome  details  — 
and  with  your  permission  we  will  get  them  over 
as  soon  as  possible.  I  shall  have  the  pleasure 
of  writing  to  you  to-morrow.    To  whom " 

"  Miss  Phipps,"  she  intimated. 

"  And  mine  is  '  Warrener.'  Stay,  I  have  a 
card.  But,  by  the  way,  when  did  you  propose 
to  let  me  come  in.  Miss  Phipps?  " 

"Would  next  month  suit  you?"  she  asked. 
"  Perhaps  you  would  prefer  it  to  be  early  in  the 
month?" 

"  I  would  n't  disorder  your  arrangements  for 
the  world,  yet  I  own  that  '  early '  has  a  musical 


32  CONRAD   IN   QUEST  OF    HIS   YOUTH 

ring.    It  would  be  agreeable  to  arrive  before  the 
colder  weather." 

"  There  are  places  In  England  where  winter's 
cold  blasts  seem  never  to  penetrate,  and  where 
birds  and  flowers  go  on  singing  and  blooming  in 
defiance  of  the  calendar,"    she  rejoined. 

"  Really?  "  said  Conrad.     "  Still " 

"  And  among  such  places,"  concluded  the  lady 
firmly,  "  Sweetbay  is  pre-eminent.  .  .  .  But  you 
will  let  me  give  you  another  cup  of  tea?  " 


CHAPTER    III 

He  could  not  persuade  himself  that  the  invitations 
evoked  enthusiasm,  indeed  two  of  them  were  de- 
clined at  the  beginning.  Only  Nina  accepted  at 
once.  She  wrote:  "How  on  earth  did  you  find 
Sweetbay  again  —  is  it  still  on  the  map?  Yes, 
I  will  come  —  and  with  '  no  encumbrances  '  — 
but  I  won't  promise  to  be  rural  so  long  as  all  that. 
If  I  were  you,  I  would  arrange  with  the  Stores 
for  constant  supplies.  Can  you  depend  on  the 
cook?" 

Regina  was  obviously  indignant  at  the  exclusion 
of  her  husband.  She  replied  that  her  cousin's 
remembrance  of  their  childhood  was  "  quite  touch- 
ing." This  was  underlined.  "  But  though  I  fully 
understand  that  Toto's  presence  would  spoil  your 
romantic  plan,  I  cannot  pretend  to  forget  that  I 
am  now  a  wife,  Conrad."  Conrad  was  perturbed. 
He  drove  to  Regent's  Park  and  showed  the  letter 
to  Nina,  and  she  said  that  her  sister  could  n't  for- 


34  CONRAD   IN   QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

get  she  was  a  wife,  because  she  had  married  a 
remote  relation  of  Lord  Polpero's. 

"They  have  stayed  at  the  'Abbey,'  my  dear; 
at  least  she  tells  me  they  have  as  often  as  she 
condescends  to  dine  with  us  —  Regent's  Park  is 
'  so  far  away  '  from  their  poky  little  place  in  May- 
fair  !  She  can  just  call  it  '  Mayfair '  without 
getting  a  remonstrance  from  the  postal  authorities. 
An  '  Abbey '  has  been  too  much  for  her.  Of 
course  Polpero  is  a  pauper,  and  the  Abbey  's  a 
wreck,  but  I  believe  she  slept  with  the  family-tree 
over  her  bed.  It 's  about  the  only  tree  of  Pol- 
pero's that  the  woodman  has  spared,  but  'Gina 
feels  Norman." 

Conrad  was  still  perturbed.  He  hastened  to 
appease  Regina,  and  moderating  his  desires,  im- 
plored "  Toto  "  to  spare  her  to  him  just  for  a 
week  or  two.  "  Toto  "  said  promptly  that  to 
spend  a  couple  of  months  at  Sweetbay  was  exactly 
what  she  needed  for  her  cough.  So  she  was  won, 
and  there  remained  only  Ted  to  conquer. 

As  a  young  professional  man  with  nothing  to 
do,  Ted  had  naturally  been  slow  to  answer  the 
letter.    Young  professional  men  make  a  point  of 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  35 

delaying  a  long  time  before  they  answer  letters  — 
it  shows  how  busy  they  are.  After  they  have 
plenty  of  work  on  hand  they  answer  more  quickly. 
When  he  wrote,  he  declared  that  the  notion  of 
renewing  their  boyish  memories  in  such  tranquil 
quarters  appealed  to  him  more  forcibly  than  he 
could  say,  but  he  was  "  so  terribly  hard  pressed 
that  he  feared  he  would  get  no  change  until  he 
ran  over  to  Monte  Carlo  at  the  end  of  the  term." 
He  was  at  the  Bar,  waiting  for  briefs. 

Conrad  called  at  his  chambers,  and  bore  him 
off  to  dinner.  Ted  was  fortunately  independent 
of  his  profession,  and  his  immutable  purpose  was 
to  convince  people  that  it  was  wearing  him  to 
death.  In  the  restaurant  he  bent  over  his  melon 
a  brow  corrugated  by  the  cares  of  imaginary  suits ; 
he  frowned  at  his  soup  through  a  monacle  as 
if  he  were  perpending  an  "  Opinion."  But  it  was 
a  dinner  of  supreme  excellence,  and  then  they 
adjourned  to  the  club.  If  it  had  not  been  Ted's 
club  too,  and  socially  undistinguished,  Conrad 
might  have  aspired  to  greater  favours  now.  Invite 
a  man  to  a  club  for  which  he  is  ineligible  himself, 
and  he  will  remember  you  with  kindliness  no  less 


36  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

often  than  he  drawls,  "  A  fellow  was  telling  me 
in  Brooks's  the  other  day  —  "  Before  they  parted, 
Ted  had  consented  quite  cheerfully  —  for  the  later 
Ted  —  and  all  was  well. 

So  the  evening  came  when  Conrad  sat  in 
Mowbray  Lodge  looking  forward  to  the  morrow 
and  the  arrival  of  the  train  due  at  twelve  fifteen. 
And  he  looked  forward  with  more  eagerness  be- 
cause the  evening  —  strange  to  say  —  was  rather 
melancholy,  and  the  knowledge  that  he  was  going 
to  bed  in  the  room  where  he  had  slept  as  a  boy 
induced  a  mood  totally  different  from  the  mood 
he  had  expected  of  it.  He  did  not  feel  a  boy 
as  he  sat  in  the  silent  house,  by  a  bad  light,  lis- 
tening to  the  rain  patter  on  the  shrubs.  On  the 
contrary  he  felt  increasingly  old  and  increasingly 
mournful  while  the  long  evening  wore  away.  The 
dreary  lamps  depressed  him,  and  the  sad  tick  of 
the  clock,  and  the  ceaseless  dripping  of  the  rain 
sent  him  to  the  whisky-bottle. 

After  breakfast  next  day  he  bought  lamps  — 
several  of  them  —  with  duplex  burners.  The 
roads  were  a  little  sloppy,  but  the  sky  was  blue. 
He  was  gratified  to  reflect  that  his  cousins  were 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  37 

doubtless  blinking  In  a  black  fog;  the  permanent 
pleasure  of  wintering  in  the  country  is  the  thought 
of  how  unhappy  our  friends  must  be  in  town.  In 
the  forlornest  watering-places  of  the  south  coast 
you  may  notice,  on  a  fine  November  morning, 
people  folding  newspapers  briskly,  and  looking 
heavenward  with  a  twinkle  in  their  eyes.  They 
are  all  returning  thanks  for  the  sufferings  of  their 
friends  in  London. 

The  train  due  at  twelve  fifteen  wound  Into  view 
at  twelve  thirty-five. 

They  were  there!  Nina,  alert,  a  smile  on  her 
thin,  shrewd  face;  Reglna,  with  an  air  of  having 
travelled  under  protest;  Ted,  bowed  beneath  the 
weight  of  the  Law  Courts. 

"  So  you  've  come !  " 

"  At  last !    What  a  loathsome  line  I  " 

"  Who  's  looking  after  the  luggage?  Is  there 
a  cab  to  be  had?  " 

"  Well,  of  course.  Do  you  suppose  It 's  a 
village?" 

"  How  hot  It  Is  I  You  must  be  smothered  In 
those  furs,  dear?  "  This  to  Nina  from  'GIna. 
'Gina  was  always  expensively  clothed,  and  badly 


38  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

dressed,  but  she  could  n't  vie  with  the  Regent'* 
Park  sables.  "  You  must  be  half  dead,"  she 
insisted  compassionately;  "  it 's  as  warm  as  the 
Riviera." 

"  We  boast  of  it  in  our  advertisements,"  said 
Conrad,  *'  but  it  is  n't.  How  did  you  leave  Toto 
and  the  family?  " 

He  heard  that  it  was  a  fine  day  in  town  too, 
and  secretly  resented  the  fact.  The  party  drove 
away,  another  "  fly  "  rumbling  with  the  baggage 
in  their  wake. 

"  The  lane !  "  he  exclaimed  as  he  sprang  out. 
"  And  it 's  the  same  as  ever." 

"  I  don't  remember  it  a  bit,"  said  all  three, 
gazing  about  them  vaguely. 

"  The  garden  I  "  he  displayed  it  in  triumph. 

"  I  fancied  it  was  quite  big,"  said  Nina. 
"  Funny  how  wee  children's  eyes  exaggerate,  is  n't 
it?"  But  she  had  not  really  been  so  wee  as  all 
that. 

*'  The  hall,  where  Boultbee  was  always  ragging 
us  because  we  did  n't  wipe  our  shoes  I  "  He  had 
thrown  the  door  open  before  the  maid  could  run 
upstairs. 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  39 

"  Who  was  Boultbee?  "  asked  Reglna.  "  What 
a  memory  you  have !  " 

They  lunched;  and  they  were  blithe  at  luncheon; 
they  discussed  a  divorce  case  in  smart  circles. 
Reglna  said  hurriedly  that  there  was  "  another  side 
to  the  story,"  She  knew  no  more  about  it  than 
she  had  read  in  the  papers,  but  she  now  moved 
on  the  confines  of  smart  circles,  and  there  are 
people  who  can  never  accustom  themselves  to  ad- 
vancement, pecuniary  or  social. 

"  Her  husband  is  such  a  scamp,"  she  explained, 
"  such  a  scamp.  I  don't  defend  her,  but  there  's 
so  much  that  never  came  out  in  court.  Dear  Lady 
Marminger,  her  mother,  was  always  against  the 
match;  she  always  felt  it  would  be  fatal.  I 
recollect  when  we  were  staying  at  the  Abbey 
once  —  "  She  was  the  most  obnoxious  variety  of 
snob:  the  middle-class  woman  who  has  married 
into  the  fringe  of  society.  If  she  had  written 
novels,  everybody  in  them  who  was  n't  a  duchess 
would  have  been  a  duke. 

"  One  of  the  cleverest  things  ever  said  in  the 
divorce  court,"  Ted  began  judicially,  "  was  when 
Hollbum  was  cross-examining " 


40  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

"  Oh,  the  scamp  theory  is  worn  out,"  struck 
in  Nina.  **  When  a  woman  has  married  a  scamp, 
her  family  feel  provided  with  an  excuse  for  every- 
thing odious  she  does  all  the  rest  of  her  life." 

"  Was  when  HoUburn  was  cross-examining  —  " 
He  was  not  to  be  put  off. 

They  were  Nina,  and  'Gina,  and  Ted,  and 
Conrad  welcomed  them  with  both  hands,  but  he 
caught  himself  thinking  that  for  any  influence 
the  surroundings  had  upon  the  conversation  he 
might  as  well  have  invited  them  to  Princes'. 

He  took  Ted  to  see  the  summer-house  when 
luncheon  was  over  —  the  summer-house  in  which 
they  used  to  have  their  conferences  when  they 
were  such  chums  —  and  Ted  was  a  disappoint- 
ment. The  summer-house  had  withstood  the 
years,  but  the  chum  had  gone.  He  was  affecting 
interest,  and  it  hurt  —  it  hurt  horribly,  because 
he  was  Ted  and  they  were  where  they  were. 
He  was  led  to  Rose  Villa,  where  Mary  Page  had 
lived.  The  sound  of  its  name  had  made  their 
hearts  ache  once,  and  the  same  name  was  on  the 
same  gate-post,  visible  to  the  same  eyes.  He 
passed  it  by,  telling  casual  falsehoods  about  the 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  4I 

extent  of  the  practice  that  he  had  n't  made,  and 
when  the  post  was  pointed  out,  he  murmured: 
"Oh,  is  it?  By  Jove!"  —  maintained  a  per- 
functory pause  for  ten  seconds,  and  broke  it  with, 
"  Well,  as  I  was  saying " 

Afterwards  they  all  sauntered  to  the  esplanade, 
and  Conrad  owned  to  himself  that  it  was  no 
animated  scene.  But  the  sun  shone  bright,  and 
when  there  is  beautiful  weather  in  Sweetbay  it 
almost  compensates  for  the  absence  of  everything 
else  there. 

"  Like  spring,"  he  observed;  "  is  n't  it?  Prob- 
ably there  's  a  fog  in  town  by  now,  or  it 's  begin- 
ning to  snow.    We  're  all  well  out  of  it." 

"  Y-e-s,"  replied  Nina.  "  You  don't  find  it  a 
little  depressing  seeing  so  many  people  in  bath- 
chairs,  do  you?  " 

"  '  So  many  people?  '  "  Reglna  was  derisive. 
"  I  've  only  seen  seven  human  beings  since  we 
arrived." 

"  Still  the  seven  were  all  In  bath-chairs,"  said 
Nina. 

"  One  expects  to  meet  people  in  bath-chairs 
at  the  seaside,"  Conrad  pleaded. 


42  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

"  But  not  sick  people,"  she  said,  "  here  they  arc 
conscientious.  It 's  a  pretty  little  band-stand ;  what 
time  does  the  band  play?  " 

"  It  '11  begin  in  June,  I  think,"  he  answered. 

"June?"  cried  Regina. 

"  It 's  not  the  season,"  he  pointed  out.  "  Of 
course  it 's  quiet  just  now." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  cavil,"  said  Ted,  with  a  for- 
bearing smile,  "  but  when  you  tell  us  it  is  not 
the  season,  I  am  struck  by  a  slight  discrepancy 
in  your  statements.  A  few  minutes  ago  you  told 
us  it  was  a  winter  place." 

"  Well,  so  it  is,  but  it 's  first  of  all  an  English 
place.  You  must  n't  ask  for  bands  to  discourse  in 
band-stands  all  the  year  round,  my  dear  fellow  — 
such  things  don't  happen.  ...  A  *  town  band  '  en- 
livens the  streets  once  a  week,  I  believe ;  I  'm  not 
an  authority  yet  —  I  only  came  down  yesterday 
morning,  and  I  've  been  setting  my  house  in  order. 
There's  a  theatre,"  he  added  hopefully;  "we 
might  drop  in  to-night,  if  you  like.  I  can't  say 
what  is  going  on  there,  but  we  '11  ascertain." 

They  spied  a  framed  play-bill  in  a  confectioner's 
window  on  the  way  back,  and  stopped  to  examine 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  43 

it.  Though  the  piece  was  familiar  to  them,  and 
the  names  of  the  company  were  strange,  they 
crowded  before  the  play-bill  cheerfully  until  they 
discovered  that  it  bore  an  ancient  date.  The 
theatre,  they  learnt,  was  now  closed,  excepting 
for  an  orchestral  concert  every  Thursday  evening. 
This  was  Saturday. 

"  We  '11  have  a  jolly  evening  at  home,"  said 
Conrad. 

"There  isn't  a  billiard  table,  I  suppose?" 
inquired  Regina;  "I'm  an  awful  swell  with  the 
cue.  I  make  tKem  play  every  night  at  the  Abbey 
when  we  're  there.  Polpero  chaffs  me  about  It 
immensely;  he's  one  of  the  old  school  —  sweet, 
but  of  the  old  school.  It 's  such  fun  —  I  chaff 
him  back.    Toto  roars^ 

The  inventory  had  not  included  a  billiard  table, 
but  he  remembered  after  dinner  that  he  had  seen 
a  Pier  "  Pavilion "  advertised,  and  his  guests 
seemed  encouraged  when  he  mentioned  it.  Regina 
said  it  was  fun  to  be  "  bohemian  "  sometimes. 

The  place  looked  less  animated  still  when  they 
sped  forth  to  be  "  bohemian."  Its  aspect  was  no 
longer  sedate,  it  was  bereaved.    The  vacant  High 


44  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

Street  mourned  behind  its  shutters.  At  the  Quad- 
rant a  forsaken  policeman  kept  a  doleful  eye  on 
space. 

"  Everybody  must  be  on  the  pier,"  said  Conrad. 
"  As  soon  as  we  turn  the  corner  we  shall  see  the 
lights." 

Their  feet  sprung  echoes  in  the  stricken  town 
as  they  pressed  forward;  and  through  the  gloom 
that  veiled  a  moaning  sea,  the  pier  became  dis- 
tinguishable. But  no  light  was  on  it  save  the  light 
of  a  misty  moon,  no  gas-jet  glimmered  among  the 
globes  on  either  side.  The  pay-box  was  black 
and  tenantless;  the  gates  were  locked.  Against 
them  leant  a  lonely  board,  announcing  a  "  Refined 
Entertainment "  for  the  twenty-second  evening  of 
the  previous  month.  The  desolation  of  the  scene 
was  tragic. 

Their  return  was  made  In  silence,  and  the  first 
thing  happened  that  recalled  the  days  of  their 
childhood  here :  they  all  went  to  bed  early. 

Nina  wanted  to  know  if  she  could  be  given 
another  room  the  next  morning.  She  remarked 
that  the  slowest  railways  always  made  the  most 
fuss,  and  that  a  train  had  been  rehearsing  outside 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  45 

her  window  half  the  night.  "  It  rattled  and 
snorted,  and  clashed  and  clanked  till  three 
o'clock."  She  acknowledged  Conrad's  regrets 
and  assurances  with  a  plaintive  sigh,  and  shook 
her  head  feebly  at  her  coffee  cup. 

It  was  raining.  That  it  can  rain  in  Sweetbay 
for  a  fortnight  on  end  with  no  longer  intervals 
than  the  entr'actes  at  a  fashionable  theatre  is  not 
distinctive;  the  idiocrasy  of  Sweetbay  is  that  It 
recommences  raining  twenty  times  a  day  as  if  the 
deluge  had  been,  hoarded  for  a  year  —  it  rains  as 
if  the  heavens  had  fallen  out.  Nina  and  'Gina, 
who  had  ventured  into  the  lane  "  between  the 
showers,"  were  drenched  before  they  could  gain 
shelter,  and  they  were  taciturn  when  they  had 
changed  their  clothes. 

The  rain  was  still  pelting  when  Ted  went  up 
to  town  on  Monday,  and  a  vicious  wind  lashed 
"  sunny  Sweetbay  "  when  he  came  back.  On  Tues- 
day the  ardour  of  the  flood  abated,  but  *'  the  fair- 
est spot  in  England  "  was  sodden  under  a  perse- 
vering drizzle,  and  a  letter  by  the  evening  post 
made  Regina  nervous  about  the  health  of  her  baby. 
"  Toto  seemed  a  good  deal  worried,"  she  said, 


46  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"  and  she  thought  under  the  circumstances  she 
ought  to  be  at  home."  She  departed  on  Wednes- 
day in  a  cataract. 

"Do  you  think  she's  good-looking?"  asked 
Nina. 

"  She  is  not  good-looking,"  said  Conrad  reflec- 
tively, "  but  she  's  so  convinced  that  she  is  that 
she  almost  persuades  you  in  moments." 

"  That 's  it,"  Nina  assented;  "  she  attitudinises 
as  if  she  were  a  beauty.  When  they  're  shown 
photographs  of  her  with  her  face  bent,  men  are 
quite  eager  to  know  her.  Of  course  the  baby 's 
bosh." 

"  I  '11  confess  that  I  'm  not  anxious  about  the 
baby  myself,  I  'm  afraid  she  found  it  rather  slow 
here.  I  got  Punch  for  her  at  the  station,  and  a 
servant  went  round  before  breakfast  to  order  a 
foot-warmer  —  it 's  necessary  to  give  notice  when 
you  '11  want  a  foot-warmer  —  but  it  was  weak 
reparation.  You  were  all  very  good  to 
come." 

"  If  there  were  anything  to  read  in  the  house, 
I  would  n't  mind  so  much,"  she  said,  "  I  mean  I 
.would  n't  mind  the  weather.    If  it  ever  leaves  off, 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  47 

we  might  go  and  try  to  find  '  a  select  library  in 
connection  with  Mudie's.'  " 

"  There  are  heaps  of  books  in  the  house  — 
I  can  lend  you  all  the  poets." 

"  I  would  rather  have  something  to  read,"  she 
said,  "  thanks.  Do  you  think  if  we  found  one,  it 
would  be  open  oftener  than  once  a  week?  " 

"  You  must  n't  misjudge  the  town  by  the 
theatre,"  he  expostulated;  "that  the  theatre  only 
opens  once  a  week  is  due  to  a  combination  of 
circumstances  that  I  don't  know  anything  about, 
but  I  am  sanguine  of  the  shops  opening  every 
day." 

"  How  long  are  you  saddled  with  the  place 
for?"     Her  tone  was  sympathetic. 

"  I  'm  not  sorry  I  took  it,"  he  answered.  "  Of 
course  everything  is  more  or  less  a  disappointment 
except  the  unattainable.  When  Columbus  reached 
the  new  world  at  last,  the  aborigines  said,  *  Well, 
what  do  you  think  of  Amurrica?'  He  said,  '  I 
thought  it  would  be  bigger.'  A  bird  in  the  hand 
is  not  worth  two  in  the  bush;  on  the  contrary,  a 
lark  in  the  sky  is  worth  two  in  the  pudding.  If 
you  ever  scratched  those  pretty  hands  of  yours 


48  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

getting  a  glow-worm  out  of  a  hedge,  you  know 
that,  when  you  have  brought  it  home,  you  won- 
dered why  you  had  given  yourself  so  much  incon- 
venience to  acquire  the  little  impostor.  Possession 
strains  —  it  depresseth  her  that  gives,  and  him  that 
takes.  While  it  was  in  the  hedge,  the  glow-worm 
shone  no  less  divine  than  the  poet's  star." 

"  Where  was  that?  "  she  said. 

"  In  a  fable.  Did  you  think  I  meant  a  star  of 
the  music-halls?  They  weren't  the  fashion  in 
poetry  yet.  He  was  a  glorious  poet  enchanted  by 
a  star  of  the  heavens.  He  stretched  his  arms  to 
it,  he  sang  to  it  nightly.  And  for  his  sake  the 
star  '  stooped  earthward,  and  became  a  woman.' 
And  then  the  day  came  when  the  woman  asked 
her  lover  which  was  best  — '  The  Star's  beam, 
or  the  Woman's  breast ' :  — 

"  *  I  miss  from  heaven,'  the  man  replied, 
'  A  light  that  drew  my  spirit  to  it.' 
And  to  the  man  the  woman  sigh'd, 
'  I  miss  from  earth  a  poet.'  " 

"  M-m,  that 's  rather  sensible,"  admitted  Nina, 
"  I  like  that  —  I  suppose  it  can't  be  really  great 
poetry.    What  get  on  my  nerves  so  in  the  poetry 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS   YOUTH  49 

of  the  Really  Great  are  those  Irritating  words  that 
I  knew  were  coming,  like  *  porphyry  '  and  '  em- 
pyrean,' and  '  bower  '  and  '  nymph ; '  and  then 
there  are  the  titles  —  they  always  sound  so  dull 
because  I  never  know  what  they  mean.  Well,  go 
on  talking  to  me." 

About  eleven  o'clock  the  downpour  ceased,  and 
presently  a  timid  sunbeam  played  upon  a  puddle. 
They  went  out  to  look  for  a  library  at  noon. 
There  was  no  need  for  umbrellas. 

The  librarian  was  a  listless  young  woman  of 
**  superior  manners."  When  not  occupied  among 
the  literature,  she  assisted  in  the  fancy  depart- 
ment. While  Nina  was  lingering  at  the  shelves, 
three  other  readers  went  to  the  counter,  and  the 
first  lady  said:  — 

"  Good  morning.  I  want  a  .  .  .  book.  Some- 
thing —  er  —  rather  exciting." 

The  young  woman  threw  an  omniscient  glance 
at  the  collection,  and  plucked.  The  lady  retd 
the  title  aloud :  — 

**  Is  this  rather  exciting?  " 

**  Oh  yes,  madam,  that  is  very  exciting." 

*'  Oh."      She    ruffled    the    pages    irresolutely. 


so  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

"It's  not  very  long,"  she  murmured;  "haven't 
you  anything  longer?  " 

The  young  woman  plucked. 

"  Is  this  rather  exciting?  "  asked  the  lady. 

The  librarian  assured  her  that  it  was  no  less 
exciting  than  the  other  novel. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  lady  .  .  .  "  '  The  Face  in  the 
Drawer.'  Oh  ...  I  '11  take  this  one  then.  You 
know  the  address,  don't  you?    Good  morning." 

The  requirement  of  the  second  lady  was: 
"  Something  pretty  .  .  .  not  too  short  ...  to 
last  me  through  the  week."  Conrad  almost  ex- 
pected to  hear  the  librarian  reply  that  they  had 
"  A  very  durable  line  at  three-three,"  but  she 
plucked  again. 

"  Shall  I  like  it?  "  inquired  the  lady  trustfully. 

The  young  woman,  listless,  but  confident,  told 
her  that  she  was  "  Certain  to  like  that." 

"You're  sure?"  said  the  lady.  "Oh,  very 
well  then  —  I  '11  have  it.    Good  day." 

The  third  subscriber  was  still  more  free  from 
the  vice  of  favouritism.  She  simply  stated  that 
she  wanted  "  A  nice  book  to  read."  The  librarian 
handed  a  book  to  her,   and  she  accepted  it  as 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  5 1 

unquestioningly  as  If  it  had  been  stamps  In  a  post- 
office.  In  not  one  of  the  three  cases  had  any 
author's  name  been  mentioned.  There  are  popu- 
lar writers,  there  is  a  public  besieging  the  libraries 
for  their  work,  but  the  literary  choice  of  the 
Nation  is  bulk  for  Its  twopence  and  the  tale 
admired  by  the  young  woman  at  the  desk. 

"  I  hope  you  have  n't  been  bored?  "  said  Nina 
at  last,  holding  out  half-a-dozen  volumes  to  be 
carried  for  her. 

**  Not  in  the  faintest  degree,"  cried  Conrad. 

But  he  was  exceedingly  bored  on  the  morrow 
when  Ted  returned  to  dinner  with  elaborate  ex- 
cuses for  bringing  his  visit  to  a  sudden  close.  Yes, 
the  host  was  bored  then;  he  knew  so  well  while 
he  responded:  "What  a  nuisance!"  and  "Of 
course  it  can't  be  helped,"  that  Ted  was  not  in 
the  least  needed  In  town,  only  dull  In  Sweetbay. 
They  were  all  to  have  gone  together  to  the  "  Or- 
chestral Concert,"  and  when  the  barrister  alleged 
that  he  felt  "  too  worn  out,"  Conrad  was  not 
pressing.  Nina  went  with  him  alone,  and  they 
walked  some  way  before  they  spoke.  She  under- 
stood that  he  was  hurt ;  dimly  she  understood  that 


52  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

he  had  shown  a  stronger  affection  on  his  side  than 
they  had  shown  on  theirs. 

"So  the  experiment  is  a  failure,  Con?"  she 
said. 

He  sighed.  "  I  'm  afraid  there  's  no  other  word 
for  it.  It  was  rather  idiotic  of  me  —  I  might 
have  known  you  'd  all  be  hipped." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  it's  that,"  she  declared; 
"  as  a  professional  man  Ted  is  n't  free."  She  was 
ever  ready  to  disparage  Regina,  but  she  had  a 
soft  spot  in  her  shrewdness  for  Ted.  "  Of 
course,"  she  added  after  a  moment,  "  his  going 
means  that  I  shall  have  to  go  too;  I  can't  stay 
with  you  by  myself,  ridiculous  as  these  things  are." 

"  No,  I  thought  of  that,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  sorry. 
I  'm  sorry  you  're  going,  Nina.  It 's  no  use  trying 
to  persuade  him,  I  suppose  ?  If  you  told  him  you 
did  n't  want  to  go " 

Every  woman  is  to  be  touched  by  oral  senti- 
ment, excepting  the  sentiment  of  her  lover  whom 
she  does  not  love.  That  irritates  her  to  brutality. 
Nina  wavered:  — 

"  I  might,"  she  owned.  "  Perhaps  he  could 
arrange." 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  53 

"  It  would  be  very  nice  of  you,"  he  said;  "  and 
really  when  you  get  used  to  Sweetbay,  you  '11 
find  it  has  a  —  a  certain  charm.  Hallo  I  What 's 
the  matter  here?    Are  we  too  soon?  " 

They  were  opposite  the  theatre,  but  the  building 
was  dark.  His  heart  sank;  he  felt  that  the  stars 
in  their  courses  were  fighting  against  him. 

'*  It  is  n't  open,"  said  Nina  superfluously. 

"  We  must  have  come  too  soon,"  he  urged. 
"  Let 's  cross  over,  and  see  what  time  it  begins." 

For  a  minute  or  two  they  peered  at  the  glum 
frontage,  puzzled,  and  then  they  descried  — 
affixed  by  its  flap  to  a  large  door  —  a  small  enve- 
lope. It  was  an  official  announcement.  On  the 
envelope  was  written,  '*  No  concert  this  evening." 

They  turned  away,  and  moved  in  reverie 
towards  the  sea,  which  shimmered  within  sight. 

On  the  long  lamp-blurred  stretch  of  asphalt  no 
one  moved.  A  mile  of  downcast  lodging-houses, 
veiled  in  gloom,  kept  hopeless  watch  over  a  blank 
Parade;  in  their  dim  fan-lights  the  legend  of 
"  Apartments  "  looked  the  emblem  of  despair.  To 
the  right  the  black  pier  slumbered  silently;  to  the 
left  a  lugubrious  hotel,  unpeopled  and  unlit,  im- 


54  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

parted  to  the  view  the  last  symbol  of  disaster.  On 
a  sudden,  spasmodically  —  in  the  wide-spread  des- 
olation —  the  town  band  burst  into  the  overture 
to  *'  Zampa."  It  was  the  jocularity  of  hysteria 
at  a  funeral.  Nina  gave  a  gulp,  and  clutched  his 
arm. 

"  Conrad,"  she  quavered,  "  let  me  go  home 
to-morrow,  or  I  shall  cryl  " 

He  did  not  plead  with  her;  he  recognised  that 
there  was  some  justice  in  her  plaint.  He  prom- 
ised that  she  should  go  by  an  early  train,  and 
his  kindness  cheered  her. 

She  came  down  to  breakfast  with  her  hat  on. 

She,  too,  had  Punch  and  a  foot-warmer,  and 
again  he  doubted  if  they  were  adequate  to  excul- 
pate him. 

"  Try  to  bear  no  malice,"  he  begged  on  the 
platform. 

"  You  '11  dine  with  us  as  soon  as  you  come  back, 
won't  you?  "  she  laughed. 

*'  Good-bye,  old  chap,"  exclaimed  Ted.  He 
had  risen  quite  vivacious.  "  Mind  you  look  me  up 
when  you  're  in  town ;  let  me  know  well  ahead, 
and  I  '11  manage  a  spare  evening." 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  55 

"  I  expect  I  Ve  left  a  lot  of  things  behind,"  said 
Nina  brightly,  bending  to  the  window;  "you 
might  tell  the  servants  to  send  them  on." 

"  Yes,  I  '11  tell  them.  Are  you  sure  you  don't 
want  any  more  papers?  " 

"  We  're  a  long  time  starting,  are  n't  we?  "  said 
Ted. 

"  You  're  just  off,"  Conrad  answered. 

It  was  less  than  a  week  since  he  had  loitered  on 
the  other  side,  impatient  for  their  arrival.  He 
forced  a  smile,  and  stood  bareheaded,  and  turned 
from  the  station  with  a  sigh. 

"  *  Oh  near  ones,  dear  ones !  you  in  whose  right  hands 
Our  own  rests  calm ;  whose  faithful  hearts  all  day 
Wide  open  wait  till  back  from  distant  lands 

Thought,  the  tired  traveller,  wends  his  homeward 
wayl 
Helpmates    and     hearthmates,     gladdeners    of    gone 
years ' 

Where  are  youf  "  said  Conrad. 


CHAPTER    IV 

He  felt  very  lonely.  Something  of  the  Christmas 
spirit  descended  on  him  —  the  true,  the  unac- 
knowledged Christmas  spirit,  in  which,  after  we 
have  directed  the  last  stack  of  cards,  and  hurried 
out  aglow  with  the  last  parcel,  we  sit  before  the 
bare  mantel-piece,  discovering  that  most  of  our 
acquaintances  have  become  too  advanced  to  ob- 
serve the  season.  We  are  quite  sure  it  is  "  ad- 
vancement," though  it  looks  a  little  like  stinginess. 
He  wondered,  as  he  entered  the  lane,  whether  the 
other  child  he  was  remembering  would  have 
proved  a  disappointment  too;  wondered  if  the 
ache  in  his  heart  would  be  intelligible  to  her,  or  if 
he  would  appear  to  her  absurd.  It  interested  him 
to  wonder.  Conjecturing  the  disposition  of  the 
strange  woman  whose  whereabouts  he  did  not 
know,  he  endued  her  with  many  attributes  that  he 
admired,  and  she  moved  before  his  mental  vision 
gradually  as  a  fair  and  slightly  pathetic  figure, 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  57 

prepared  to  be  his  confidante.  He  fancied  she 
was  unhappy  with  her  husband.  At  least  the  sad- 
ness of  life  had  touched  her  enough  to  tinge  her 
sentiment  with  cynicism,  and  she  had  flashes  of  wit 
on  rainy  days. 

It  surprised  him  that  he  had  made  no  attempt 
to  trace  her;  his  curiosity  was  awake.  Many 
things  were  more  unlikely  than  that  she  was  living 
in  the  town.  As  he  passed  Rose  Villa  he  was  in 
two  minds  about  ringing  the  bell  and  trying  to 
gather  information  from  the  present  occupants. 
He  would  probably  have  obeyed  the  impulse,  but 
while  he  hesitated  the  householder  came  out  —  a 
jniddle-aged  little  man,  with  a  sanguine  com- 
plexion, and  gaiters. 

Conrad  accosted  him.    "  Excuse  me,"  he  began. 

The  gentleman  saluted  with  his  crop.  "  'Morn- 
ing," he  said. 

"  I  was  looking  at  your  bell  with  the  idea  of 
jroubling  you  with  an  inquiry  about  a  '  missing 
friend.'  May  I  ask  if  you  happen  to  know  the 
nv!dress  of  your  predecessor  here  —  Dr.  Page?" 

"  Who?  "  said  the  little  man  briskly. 

-  Dr.  Page." 


58  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"  No.  Don't  know  the  name.  Took  the  place 
of  people  called  —  er  —  Greames.  .  .  .  Agents 
might  tell  you  —  Chipper  and  Stokes  In  the  High 
Street.  Page?  Doctor?  N-no."  He  shook  his 
head.    "Sorry." 

"  I  thank  you." 

"  Not  at  all.  Neighbours,  I  think,  sir  ?  For 
long?" 

"  No ;  it 's  a  very  temporary  pleasure  of  mine," 
said  Conrad. 

"  Congratulate  you,"  said  the  little  man.  "  If 
your  friend  was  a  doctor,  probably  knew  better 
than  to  stop.  Much  misled  myself.  Recom- 
mended here  for  my  health.  Most  In-;M-rious! 
Damp,  sir,  Sweetbay  is  damp.  They  call  it  a 
*  humid  atmosphere  ' ;  '  humid  atmosphere  '  be 
damned,  sir  I  Take  your  clothes  off  the  peg  in  the 
morning  and  wring  'em  out.  That 's  not  a  humid 
atmosphere  —  it 's  a  death-trap." 

"  You  astonish  me,"  said  Conrad.  "  I  under- 
stood the  climate  was  so  salubrious  that  the  In- 
habitants would  all  live  to  be  a  hundred  if  they 
did  n't  die  of  the  dulness  young."  He  lifted  his 
hat.    "  I  am  obliged." 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  59 

**  Pleasure,"  said  the  neighbour.  "  Er  —  hope 
we  shall  —  er,  er " 

"I  hope  SO  too,"  smiled  Conrad.  "  Er  —  no 
doubt." 

"  'Morning,"  said  the  gentleman,  saluting  with 
his  crop. 

It  was  discomfiting  to  find  the  occupant  of 
Mary's  former  home  so  completely  ignorant  of 
Mary.  Such  ignorance,  there,  on  the  very  thresh- 
old, in  view  of  the  sun  shutters  that  had  framed 
her  face,  seemed  rather  callous  of  him.  As  Con- 
rad watched  him  swagger  up  the  lane,  he  resented 
the  usurper's  privilege  to  stretch  his  gaitered  legs 
on  the  hearth  to  whose  history  he  was  so  utterly 
indifferent. 

Somehow  the  drawing-room  looked  emptier  still 
to  Conrad  for  the  colloquy,  when  he  went  indoors. 
In  the  violent  disassociation  of  the  next  house 
from  Mary  Page,  this  one  seemed  suddenly  for- 
eign to  him;  suddenly  he  felt  that  he  had  com- 
mitted a  fatuous  and  a  mournful  act  in  taking  it. 
Sweetbay  had  meant  to  him  four  persons,  and  of 
these,  three  had  fled,  and  the  fourth  was  lost. 
Why  should  he  stay  here?    He  thought  vaguely 


^  CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

of  a  little  dinner  at  "  Odd-and-even's,"  and  a  stall 
at  the  Alhambra.  He  nearly  stretched  his  arm  for 
the  time-table  —  and  all  the  while  the  melancholy 
that  oppressed  him  urged  him  to  remain  and  find 
Mary.  His  mind  demanded  her  more  insistently 
than  before.  It  was  no  longer  a  whim :  it  was  a 
strenuous  desire.  "  After  all,  it  would  be  a  crazy 
thing,  to  go  to  London  for  pleasure!  "  he  mused. 
"  I  '11  hear  what  the  agents  have  to  say." 

He  strolled  to  their  office  after  luncheon,  and 
a  small  boy  told  him  that  Mr.  Stokes  was  in.  For 
once  Conrad  chafed  at  the  local  languor.  The 
torpid  tradesmen,  unconcerned  whether  he  bought 
or  not,  had  amused  him,  but  the  heavy  young 
man  who  gazed  at  him  with  vacant  eyes  was 
Irritating. 

"Dr.  Page?"  echoed  the  young  man  dully; 
"  Rose  Villa?  There  was  a  Dr.  Page  in  Essel- 
field,  was  n't  there?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Conrad.  "  Perhaps  you 
can  tell  mc.    Where  is  Esselfield?  " 

"  That 's  along  the  Esselfield  Road,"  said  Mr. 
Stokes  with  deliberation.  "  What  do  you  want  to 
know  for?  " 


i*^ 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  6l 

**  I  'm  trying  to  learn  the  address  of  a  friend 
who  hai  moved,"  Conrad  explained,  labouredly 
polite. 

"  Oh  y-e-s."  He  paused  so  long  that  it  seemed 
doubtful  if  he  would  speak  again.  "  There  was  a 
Dr.  Page  in  Esselfield;  I  can't  say  if  he  's  there 
still." 

"  The  gentleman  I  mean  was  —  well,  he  must 
be  an  elderly  man,"  said  Conrad.  He  could  not 
remember  in  the  least  how  Dr.  Page  had  looked; 
he  wished  he  knew  his  christian  name.  "  An  el- 
derly man.  He  had  a  family.  They  used  to  be 
at  Rose  Villa,  next  door  to  Mowbray  Lodge.  I  'm 
talking  of  years  ago  —  a  good  many  years  ago. 
.  .  .  Perhaps  your  partner  might  be  able  to  assist 
me?" 

"  Major  Bompas  lives  at  Rose  Villa  now,"  said 
Mr.  Stokes.  His  tone  was  a  little  firmer,  the  tone 
of  one  who  says  a  helpful  thing. 

"  And  he  took  it  of  people  called  *  Greamei*; 
I  know  all  that.  Dr.  Page  had  tht  boiif«  before 
the  Greames." 

"  Oh,"  murmured  Mr.  Stokes,  "  did  he?  Y-e^. 
.  .  .  No,  I  could  n't  say,  I  'm  sure.    Mr.  Greames 


63  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

lived  there  before  Major  Bompas.  Mr.  Greames 
was  there  a  long  while  back." 

"  Dr.  Page  lived  there  in  —  let  me  think, 
■where  are  we  now?  It  must  have  been  in  eighteen 
seventy-seven." 

"  Oh  Gawd!  "  said  the  young  man  faintly.  For 
the  first  time  an  expression  humanised  his  counte- 
nance, an  expression  of  dismay  tempered  with  en- 
tertainment. It  made  Conrad  feel  prehistoric. 
*'  Eighteen  sev-enty-sev-en  ?  I  'm  sure  I  could  n't 
tell  you  who  lived  there  then."  A  snigger  escaped 
him.  "  There  was  a  Dr.  Page  at  Esselfield,"  he 
repeated;  "he  may  have  been  at  Rose  Villa 
first." 

"  Is  there  any  place  in  the  town,"  asked  Con- 
rad, with  frank  disgust,  "  where  it 's  possible  to 
see  an  old  directory?  " 

**  I  should  n't  think,"  averred  the  heavy  young 
man,  "  that  a  directory  was  published  in  Sweetbay 
in  'sev-enty-sev-en."  There  was  nearly  a  twinkle 
in  his  eyes. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Conrad.  "  Good  after- 
noon." 

He  went  forth  to  seek  the  Esselfield  Road  in- 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  6j 

censed  as  well  as  disappointed  now.  'Seventy- 
seven?  Who  was  this  blank-faced  dolt  to  jeer  at 
'seventy-seven?  Sweetbay  had  been  an  infinitely 
more  attractive  place  in  'seventy-seven  than  it  was 
to-day.  The  High  Street  bored  him  as  he  walked. 
Once  it  had  been  stimulating,  replete  with  inter- 
est, and  now  it  was  unworthy  his  attention.  He 
looked  at  it  as  a  young  girl  looks  at  a  married 
man.  There  was  a  fresh-coloured  woman  dan- 
dling her  baby  behind  the  glass  door  of  a  baker's 
shop  as  he  passed,  and  he  recognised  with  a  frown 
that  she  had  not  been  born  in  'seventy-seven.  It 
was  a  small  matter,  but  it  depressed  him  more. 

The  sepulchral  window  of  a  monumental  mason 
caught  his  glance.  Overhead  was  the  inscription, 
"Established  1852."  He  wavered  in  his  course 
and  entered.  The  interior  was  like  a  premature 
graveyard,  ranged  with  marble  tombstones  wait- 
ing for  allotment,  and  brittle  wreaths  lamenting 
the  dissolution  of  "  Beloved  "  relatives  who  were 
still  alive.  There  seemed  to  him  something  appro- 
priate in  pursuing  his  investigations  among  the 
tombstones.  But  though  the  business  had  been 
established  in  1852,  the  mason  himself  proved  to 


64  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

be  very  recent.  When  he  realised  that  his  inter- 
locutor was  not  there  to  give  an  order,  the  sym- 
pathetic droop  of  his  bearing  evaporated,  and  he 
straightened  into  a  careless  soul  to  whom  the  men- 
tion of  'seventy-seven  was  almost  as  disconcerting 
as  it  had  been  to  Mr.  Stokes. 

The  Esselfield  Road  was  thick  with  mud  after 
the  heavy  rains.  His  long  tramp  —  for  he  had 
learnt  that  it  was  necessary  to  walk  —  had  no  en- 
livening effect  on  Conrad's  mood,  nor  was  the 
village  cheering  when  he  reached  it.  A  few  houses 
were  scattered  beside  a  common;  some  geese 
waddled  around  a  pond.  Beyond  an  inn,  a  la- 
bourer in  his  cups  shouted  a  refrain  of  the  London 
music-halls. 

Conrad  went  into  the  "  bar-parlour  "  and  asked 
for  beer.  In  the  sensitiveness  to  his  years  which 
was  being  so  rapidly  developed  in  him  he  observed 
with  satisfaction  that  the  untidy  proprietress  was 
middle-aged.  "  Yes,  there  had  been  a  Dr.  Pagc>'* 
she  told  him.  "  Not  what  you  might  call  a  rcgji- 
lar  doctor  —  he  did  n't  do  nothing.  She  believed 
he  had  moved  into  Sweetbay,  to  as  to  be  new  the 
sea." 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  65 

"  I  understood  that  he  moved  here  from  Sweet- 
bay.  An  elderly  man.  He  had  a  family,"  said 
Conrad  with  fatigue. 

"  There  was  two  young  gals,"  she  agreed. 
"  They  was  always  about." 

"  '  About '  ?  "  he  murmured. 

*'  Picking,  and  skating,  and  that.  I  used  to  say 
they  was  never  at  'ome." 

"Oho?"  said  Conrad.  And  added  to  him- 
self, "  The  younger  children  grown  up.  Girls  of 
spirit  I  "  —  "  When  did  they  leave?  "  he  continued. 

"  Oh,  it  must  be  a  long  time,"  she  answered. 
She  turned  to  a  man  who  had  the  air  of  being  her 
husband.  "  'Ow  long  is  it  since  that  Dr.  Page  was 
'ere,  pa?  " 

"  Dr.  Page,"  drawled  the  man  wonderingly. 
"  Oh,  it 's  a  long  time  ago." 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated,  "  it 's  a  long  time  ago." 

"  But,  roughly,  how  long?  "  persisted  Conrad. 

"  W-e-11,  it  must  be  —  eight  years  or  more,"  she 
said,  visibly  resenting  an  occasion  to  be  definite. 

In  his  soul  he  groaned;  if  eight  years  seemed 
so  remote,  what  would  they  think  of  twenty-five? 
Again  he  was  bowed  beneath  the  sense  of  senility. 


66  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

"  You  don't  happen  to  know  where  he  settled  in 
Sweetbay?  "  he  proceeded. 

She  shook  her  head,  she  had  no  Idea  at  all; 
neither  of  the  pair  had  any  idea,  so  he  finished  his 
ale,  and  paid  for  some  cigars,  which  there  was  of 
course  no  need  to  smoke. 

The  lamps  were  winking  through  the  dusk  when 
he  drew  in  sight  of  Sweetbay.  At  a  stationer's 
he  bought  a  directory  of  the  current  year,  and 
studied  it  at  the  counter.  It  contained  a  "  Captain 
Page,"  and  "  John  Page,  milkman."  He  found 
also  "  Miss  Page,  ladies'  outfitter,"  and  "  Mrs. 
Page,  laundress,"  but  there  was  no  "  Page  "  of 
promise  among  the  leaves.  He  availed  himself 
of  the  opportunity  to  inquire  again  concerning 
the  likelihood  of  his  discovering  an  ancient  copy 
of  the  work,  but  at  his  reference  to  'seventy-seven 
the  stationer,  too,  fell  agape.  It  recurred  to  Con- 
rad that  in  connection  with  Mr.  Boultbee  the  post- 
office  had  been  suggested.  Physically  he  was  tired 
by  now,  but  mentally  he  was  unflagging,  and  he 
bent  his  steps  to  the  general  post-office  forthwith. 

The  clerk  who  sold  the  stamps  to  him  "  could  n't 
say  ";  she  retired,  however,  to  repeat  his  question 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  67 

to  the  postmistress,  and  It  was  at  this  point  that 
the  Outlook  brightened.  The  postmistress  was  a 
young  and  gracious  woman  in  a  pink  blouse,  and 
she  came  forward  with  a  confident  smile  to  inform 
him  that  Dr.  Page  was  no  longer  a  resident  of 
Sweetbay,  but  had  removed  to  Redhill.  "  Red- 
hill?"  He  had  not  suspected  that  anyone  ever 
got  out  there. 

"An  elderly  man.  He  had  a  family,"  he  reit- 
erated with  exhaustion.     "  Two  young  girls." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  nodded,  "  that 's  the  same. 
Very  pretty,  tall  young  ladies?  They  were  always 
in  and  out." 

"  Really?  "  said  Conrad.  Mary's  sisters  began 
to  beckon  to  him.  "  Can  you  help  me  to  communi- 
cate with  Dr.  Page  ?  " 

"  We  have  the  address  he  left  with  us  —  the 
one  we  used  to  forward  letters  to;  I  don't  know 
if  he  's  there  still."  She  confessed  the  limitation 
of  her  knowledge  with  regret.  "  It 's  some  years 
since  he  went  from  Sweetbay." 

*'  Perhaps  you  would  be  so  merciful  as  to  give 
me  the  one  you  have?  I  am  an  old  friend  of  Dr. 
Page's  family  —  very  old  —  and  till  Providence 


68  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

directed  my  steps  to  you  I  despaired  of  finding 
them  again."  He  outlined  the  difficulties  he  had 
encountered,  but  he  had  grown  diffident  of  men- 
tioning 'seventy-seven. 

The  postmistress  laughed  quite  mirthfully  at  his 
recital,  which,  encouraged  by  her  appreciation,  he 
falsified  sufficiently  to  make  amusing.  After  bid- 
ding the  clerk  turn  to  a  book,  she  announced  to 
him  that  the  address  was  "  Home  Rest,  Peregrine 
Place,"  and  the  assurances  of  his  gratitude  seemed 
amply  to  repay  her. 

Conrad  went  to  bed  with  much  more  exhilara- 
tion than  he  had  looked  for.  The  day,  after  all, 
had  seen  something  accomplished.  Within  his 
head,  when  he  punched  the  pillow,  the  project  of 
running  Dr.  Page  to  earth  on  the  morrow  prom- 
ised agreeable  developments.  At  the  onset  the 
interview  would  be  a  trifle  embarrassing  he  fore- 
saw, inasmuch  as  the  gentleman  on  whom  he  in- 
truded would  certainly  have  no  recollection  of  his 
name;  but  the  ice  would  break  under  a  few  suave 
references  to  "  My  first  visit  to  the  neighbourhood 
•ince  I  was  a  boy,"  and  "  My  little  playmates  of 
long  ago  "  —  he  would  put  her  in  the  plural,  his 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  69 

Inquiries  could  be  concentrated  gradually.  If 
Mary  herself  were  living  in  Redhill  he  might  re- 
main there.  He  would  intimate  that  he  thought 
of  doing  so  —  it  would  forefend  the  suspicion  of 
impetuosity. 

The  sun  was  shining  when  he  woke.  The  birds 
chirruped  among  the  fir  trees,  and  there  were 
echoes  of  old-time  music  in  his  heart  while  he 
brushed  his  hair  —  until  he  fought  to  draw  up  a 
sailor's  knot  under  one  of  those  "  double  collars  " 
that  have  led  to  so  much  domestic  unhappiness  at 
the  breakfast-table. 

He  travelled  by  the  South-Eastern  and  Chat- 
ham, but  he  reached  Redhill,  and  smelt  the  tan- 
nery as  he  searched  for  an  exit  from  the  station. 
The  salient  features  of  Redhill  are  the  smell  of 
leather,  the  shrieks  of  trains,  and  the  all-night 
barking  of  mongrels.  He  was  directed  to  Station 
Road,  and  told  to  "  bear  to  the  left."  The  town- 
let  seemed  to  him  to  blend  the  most  unpleasant 
characteristics  of  Clapham  Junction  and  Hanley 
in  the  Potteries.  He  started  briskly.  The  way 
was  long,  and  several  times  he  paused  to  seek 
further    information.      Occasionally    a    carriage 


70  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

passed,  the  occupants  with  protesting  noses.  By 
degrees  all  the  villas  and  the  pavement  dropped 
behind  him ;  the  smell  of  the  tannery  was  fainter, 
and  the  path  on  either  side  was  bordered  by  a 
hedge.  From  the  altitude  of  a  butcher's  cart  a 
boy  in  blue  encouraged  him  with  the  assurance  that 
Peregrine  Place  was  "  straight  on."  Presently  the 
way  wound,  and  a  terrace  of  small  semi-detached 
houses  with  little  front  gardens  gladdened  his  view. 
As  he  drew  close  he  saw  '*  Home  Rest  "  painted 
on  the  gate-post  at  the  corner.  Outside,  in  the 
sequestered  road,  a  venerable  tenant,  with  a  velvet 
skull-cap  and  silvery  hair,  was  pottering  around  a 
camera.  At  Conrad's  approach  he  lifted  his  head, 
and  regarded  him  with  gentle  curiosity.  The  sight 
of  the  blue  eyes  and  placid  face  seemed  suddenly 
familiar  to  Conrad;  he  felt  far-off  memories  stir- 
ring in  him  as  his  gaze  met  the  old  man's  features, 
and,  doffing  his  hat,  he  murmured,  with  the  defer- 
ence that  sat  so  well  upon  him :  — 

"Dr.  Page,  I  think?" 

"  Heh?  "  said  the  old  gentleman,  inclining  the 
other  ear. 

"  You  don't  know  me,"  said  Conrad  wistfully, 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  Jl 

but  in  a  louder  tone.  "  We  have  n't  met  since  I 
was  a  boy,  Dr.  Page  —  that 's  many  years  ago." 

The  old  gentleman  indicated  Home  Rest  im- 
patiently. 

"  Next  door,"  he  snapped,  "  Dr.  Page  lives  next 
door  I" 

Conrad  retreated  with  hasty  apologies,  feeling 
considerably  foolish.  He  would  have  preferred 
to  stroll  awhile  before  repeating  his  exordium, 
and  only  the  consciousness  of  being  watched  by 
the  old  gentleman  who  had  misled  him  constrained 
him  to  unlatch  the  gate. 

A  neat  servant  answered  that  Dr.  Page  was 
not  at  home.    He  was  relieved. 

"  I  '11  call  again,"  he  said.  "  When  do  you 
expect  him  to  come  in?  " 

"  Oh,  he  's  away,  sir,  he  won't  be  back  for  two 
or  three  days.  Would  you  like  to  see  Mrs.  Page, 
sir?" 

He  had  no  remembrance  of  a  Mrs.  Page,  but 
there  was  the  objection  to  travelling  fruitlessly, 
and  the  thought  that  a  woman  would  be  susceptible 
to  the  prettiness  of  his  visit.  He  hesitated  —  he 
answered  that  he  would.    The  girl  conducted  him 


72  CONRAD   IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

to  t  small,  cheerless  drawing-room,  and  returned 
to  say  that  Mrs.  Page  would  be  down  in  a  few 
minutes.  There  were  antimacassars  everywhere, 
and  the  cold  white  mantelpiece  exhibited  the  per- 
petual porcelain  courtship  which  has  never  ad- 
vanced; the  amorous  male  still  smirked  inanely, 
and  the  simpering  maiden  seemed  still  to  hope. 
Conrad  was  much  attracted  by  a  large  album  that 
reposed  on  an  occasional  table.  He  sat  tempted 
to  unclasp  it,  and  had  just  risen  and  made  a  tenta- 
tive step  in  its  direction  when  he  heard  the  door- 
knob move. 

The  lady  who  came  in  seemed  to  deprecate  her 
entrance ;  she  was  evidently  timid,  and  she  blinked. 
He  thought  at  first  that  she  suffered  from  some 
affection  of  the  eyes,  but  when  she  spoke,  he 
opined  that  the  blinking  was  due  entirely  to 
nervousness. 

*'  Mr.  Warrener?  "  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

"  Mrs.  Page,"  he  began,  "  I  must  crave  your 
pardon  for  intruding  on  you  in  this  fashion.  It 's 
very  audacious  of  me  because,  even  when  I  tell  you 
who  I  am,  I  dare  n't  suppose  that  you  will  recollect 


CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH  73 

Her  eyelids  fluttered  more,  and  she  said :  — 

"  Wo  —  won't  you  sit  down?  "  She  wore  mit- 
tens, and  plucked  at  them. 

"  Thank  you."  Instinctively  he  lowered  his 
voice,  as  if  he  were  speaking  to  an  invalid.  "  My 
excuse  is  rather  unusual  —  I  hope  it  won't  appear 
to  you  preposterous.  When  I  was  a  boy,  your 
children  and  I  used  to  be  bosom  friends,  and  I 
found  myself  in  Sweetbay  the  other  day  for  the 
first  time  since.  I  need  n't  tell  you  that  I  went  to 
look  at  the  house,  and  the  desire  to  —  to  find  them 
all  again  was  very  strong.  ...  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  learn  that  you  had  moved  to  Redhill, 
so  I  decided  to  risk  your  ridicule,  and  throw  myself 
on  your  forbearance." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  she  faltered.  "I  —  I  'm  sure 
I  —  "  Her  nervousness  seemed  increased,  rather 
than  diminished,  by  his  address.  There  was  an 
awkward  pause. 

"  I  trust  Dr.  Page  and  —  and  my  former  com- 
rades arc  all  well?  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  yes  they  are  all  quite  well." 

He  wished  that  Mary's  were  not  the  only  name 
among  them  he  could  recall ;  "  All  well  I  "  he  said, 


74  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

forcing  a  hearty  note,  "  All  well  1  It 's  strange  to 
me  to  think  of  them  as  grown-up.  Time  —  er  —* 
brings  many  changes,  madam?  " 

"  Indeed,"  she  concurred  timorously;  "  as  you 
say  1  "  But  she  volunteered  no  news,  and  he  began 
to  feel  that  they  were  getting  on  slowly ;  his  har- 
assed gaze  wandered  to  the  china  courtship. 

"May  I  ask  if  they  are  still  with  you?"  he 
ventured. 

"  My  eldest  daughter  is  married,"  she  replied. 
"  The  others  are  ...  I  hope  very  soon.  I  —  er 
don't  quite  understand  when  it  was  you  knew 
them?  While  we  were  in  Sweetbay,  I  think  you 
said?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  musingly,  "  when  the 
daughter  who  is  married  was  a  little  girl,  Mrs. 
Page.  To  think  that  she  's  a  woman  and  a  wifel 
Why,  Miss  Mary  and  I  were  like  brother  and 
sister  then  —  how  wonderful  it  would  be  to  meet 
her  now !  " 

"  My  daughter's  name  is  Ursula,"  she  de- 
murred. She  blinked  fast.  There  was  another 
pause. 

"  '  Ur  —  Ursula? '  "  stammered  Conrad,  with 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  75 

the  precursory  sinking  of  an  awful  fear.  "  Miss 
Mary  not  the  eldest?  .  .  .  But  surely  at  Rose 
Villa  she  was  the  eldest  at  home  —  during  that 
summer,  at  least?  " 

"  I  think  there  must  be  some  mistake,"  she 
quavered;  "  I  have  no  daughter  '  Mary.'  I  think 
there  must  be  some  mistake." 

"  Good  heavens  1  "  gasped  Conrad.  He  was 
covered  with  confusion.  "  My  dear  madam,  what 
can  I  say  to  you?  I  —  I  have  been  most  shame- 
fully deceived.  I  knew  the  family  of  a  Dr.  Page 
in  Sweetbay  in  'seventy-seven.  I  was  assured  — 
I  was  officially  misinformed  —  that  they  had  re- 
moved to  Redhill.  This  house  was  mentioned  to 
me  as  their  residence.  I  am  abased,  I  can't  suffi- 
ciently express  my  regret.  Possibly  —  I  '11  say 
*  probably  '  —  my  informant  was  led  astray  by  the 
sameness  of  the  surname  and  the  profession,  but 
nothing  can  excuse  an  error  that  has  caused  you  so 
much  annoyance.  Nothing  1  "  he  repeated  impla- 
cably. "  I  can  only  offer  you  my  profoundest,  my 
most  contrite  apologies." 

The  lady  was  now  blinking  so  rapidly  that  it 
was  dazzling  to  watch  her. 


76  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS   YOUTH 

"  My  husband  never  practised  In  Sweetbay,"  »he 
said.  "  My  husband's  name  is  '  Napoleon  Page.' 
We  had  never  seen  Sweetbay  in  'seventy-seven. 
Our  house  was  not  called  '  Rose  Villa.'  Oh  dear 
no  I    I  'm  afraid  there  must  be  some  mistake." 

"Obviously,"  cried  Conrad;  "it  overwhelms 
me.  I  shall  severely  reprimand  the  person  who 
—  who  is  responsible.  Permit  me  to  thank  you 
for  the  patience,  the  infinite  courtesy  with  which 
you  have  listened  to  my  —  my  totally  irrelevant 
reminiscences.  I  —  Pray  don't  trouble  to  ring, 
madam  I  " 

His  cheeks  were  hot  when  he  gained  the  step. 
He  walked  towards  the  station  swiftly,  eager  ta 
leave  "  Home  Rest "  and  Redhill  far  behind. 
Long  after  the  train,  for  which  he  was  obliged  to- 
wait,  had  started,  the  incident  continued  to  distress 
him.  He  smarted  anew  in  the  compartment.  He 
was  even  denied  the  unction  of  feeling  he  had 
made  a  satisfactory  exit,  and  the  certainty  that 
the  lady  would  describe  his  later  demeanour  as 
"  flurried  "  annoyed  him  more  than  he  could  say 
in  the  presence  of  his  fellow-passengers.  To  fall 
into  the  mistake  was  natural,  he  argued,  but  he 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH  77 

wished  ardently  that  he  had  extricated  himself 
from  it  with  more  grace,  with  more  of  the  lei- 
surely elegance  he  could  display  if  the  situation 
were  to  occur  again. 

Well,  he  had  done  with  his  search  for  Mary  I 
He  said  he  abandoned  it  in  disgust,  and  was  still 
firm  on  the  point  when  he  reached  Mowbray 
Lodge.  He  began  to  reconsider  packing  his  port- 
manteaux. For  two  days  he  made  no  further 
inquiry  of  anyone,  and  lingered,  as  it  were,  under 
protest.  Yet  in  England  at  least  he  might  spend 
December  amid  worse  surroundings  than  Sweet- 
bay  presented  now;  he  owned  that.  From  the 
chief  thoroughfares  the  last  speck  of  mud  had 
long  since  been  removed;  the  pink  sidewalks 
shone  as  spotless  as  when  he  trod  them  in  Octo- 
ber. The  air  was  tender,  there  was  an  azure  sky, 
a  sunlit  sea  curled  innocently  upon  the  beach.  Yes, 
of  a  truth,  he  might  fare  worse.  If  it  were  not 
for  the  dulness,  he  could  scarcely  fare  better.  On 
the  third  afternoon,  as  he  sauntered  through  the 
High  Street,  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  could  do 
no  harm  to  announce  his  failure  to  the  mirthful 
postmistress.     He  did  not  pledge  himself  to  re- 


78  CONRAD   IN   QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

sume  his  efforts,  but It  certainly  was  very 

dull,  and  If  he  were  more  explicit  she  might  be 
able  to  give  him  another  hint. 

She  recognised  him  at  once,  and  advanced, 
sparkling  as  before. 

"Did  you  find  your  friends,  sir?"  she  asked 
as  he  saluted  her. 

"  I  did  not,"  said  Conrad,  "  but  I  intruded 
on  an  inoffensive  household  who  were  perfect 
strangers  to  me.  The  Dr.  Page  whose  address 
you  very  kindly  furnished  was  not  my  Dr.  Page 
at  all." 

"  Oh  dear  I  how  very  awkward,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  so  sorry." 

"It  was  awkward,  wasn't  it?"  he  concurred. 
"  Of  course  I  threw  all  the  blame  on  you,  so  they 
forgave  me,  but  I  'm  now  quite  helpless.  My 
friends  seem  to  have  vanished  as  utterly  -as  if 
Sweetbay  had  closed  over  their  heads,  and  to  com- 
plete the  difficulty  this  family  of  spurious  Pages 
arose  since.  I  foresee  that  as  often  as  I  make 
another  attempt  I  shall  be  directed  to  Redhill. 
I  did  n't  like  to  tell  you  before,  because  it  makes 
me  sound  so  old,  but  the  people  I  mean  arc  the 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  79 

Pages  who  lived  here  in  'seventy-seven.  I  beg  of 
you  not  to  jump.  Everybody  jumps  —  that 's  why 
I  have  grown  so  nervous  of  mentioning  the  date." 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  amusement;  she  leant 
her  elbows  on  the  counter. 

*'  I  was  n't  in  the  office  then,"  she  said  reflec- 
tively. 

"  Naturally,"  he  returned.  "  You  must  have 
been  in  your  cradle.  /  was  only  a  little  boy. 
They  were  companions  of  my  cherub  stage;  be- 
lieve me,  I  was  rosily  young." 

"  There  's  a  gentleman  in  the  town  who  might 
be  able  to  tell  you  something,"  she  suggested: 
"  Mr.  Irquetson,  the  vicar  of  All  Saints.  He  has 
been  here  thirty  years,  or  more." 

"Really?"  exclaimed  Conrad,  and  added, 
"  It 's  a  shame  to  be  beaten,  is  n't  it?  " 

**  Oh,  it  is,"  she  agreed;  "  and  he  's  a  very  nice 
gentleman;  he  '11  be  glad  to  help  you  if  he  can." 

"Well,  I  think  I  '11  go  to  see  him;  if  he  has 
been  here  thirty  years,  he  can  hardly  fail  to  re- 
member the  Dr.  Page  I  'm  talking  about."  He 
glanced  at  the  clock.  "  Do  you  think  he  's  likely 
to  be  in  now?  " 


8o  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  I  should  think  the  morning  would  be  the  best 
time,  sir,"  she  answered;  "but  you  might  try  — 
it  is  n't  far.  If  you  '11  wait  a  second,  I  '11  write 
the  address  down  for  you." 

"  You  are  too  good,"  said  Conrad  Impressively. 
His  pulses  quickened  at  the  chance.  Instandy 
the  thought  of  quitting  Sweetbay  was  forgotten. 
Again  he  thanked  her,  and  again  she  bowed  gra- 
ciously over  her  pink  blouse  as  he  withdrew. 
When  he  turned  at  the  doors,  she  was  bowing  still. 

They  swung  to  behind  him,  and  he  wished  he 
had  reported  himself  to  her  three  days  ago.  What 
amiability!  He  had  never  seen  anything  to  com- 
pare with  it  in  a  post-office.  As  he  strode  towards 
the  vicar's,  he  was  possessed  by  amazement.  The 
experience  had  an  air  of  the  ideal,  as  everybody 
will  admit.  Probably  the  mirthful  postmistress 
was  the  only  member  of  her  calling  ever  known  to 
exhibit  a  pleasant  countenance  to  the  public,  except- 
ing—  But  the  Exception  merits  a  paragraph  to 
herself,  and  as  she  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  story, 
you  are  recommended  to  skip  to  the  next  chapter. 

Excepting  a  little  lady  who  once  brightened  the 
ancient  post-office   of   Southampton   Row.     The 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  8 1 

"post-office,"  have  I  said?  Rather  should  I  say 
she  brightened  the  district  with  that  sunny  smile 
of  hers,  and  the  daily  flower  freshening  her  neat 
little  frock.  To  watch  her,  it  seemed  she  found 
long  hours  "  in  the  cage  "  the  very  poetry  of  bread- 
winning.  Dull  matrons  from  Russell  Square,  and 
tired  clerks  from  Guilford  Street  alike  felt  the  en- 
couragement of  her  cheerfulness,  and  went  on 
their  way  refreshed.  One  may  well  believe  she 
was  the  unwitting  cause  of  many  kindly  actions  in 
West  Central  London,  for  a  crowd  was  ever  at 
the  counter,  and  the  sourest  soul  of  all  on  whom 
she  smiled  must  for  a  space  have  viewed  the  world 
with  friendlier  eyes.  Often  I  used  to  wonder,  as 
I  bought  a  postcard,  and  waited  for  the  farthing 
change,  whether  it  was  interest  in  her  duties,  or 
the  message  of  the  daily  flower  that  kept  that  light 
of  happiness  in  the  girlish  face.  When  she  van- 
ished, Southampton  Row  was  grey.  They  re- 
painted and  replanned  it ;  and  built  spruce  hotels, 
and  pink  "  mansions,"  but  nothing  could  make 
good  the  loss.  It  was  whispered  she  had  left  to  be 
married.  All  Bloomsbury  must  hope  that  he  is 
kind  to  her  1 


CHAPTER   V 

And  after  that  little  tribute,  which  has  been  owing 
for  more  years  than  it  exhilarates  me  to  count  — 
and  which  has  been  paid  with  no  expense  to  any- 
one who  followed  my  advice  —  let  us  overtake 
Conrad  on  the  doorstep,  where  he  had  just  learnt 
that  the  vicar  was  at  home. 

The  Rev.  Athol  Irquetson  was  a  sombre-eyed 
priest  with  a  beautiful  voice.  In  his  zeal,  he  had 
studied  how  to  use  it  —  under  an  eminent  actor; 
in  his  discretion,  he  suppressed  the  fact  —  for  he 
knew  his  Sweetbay.  He  had  also  a  fine  faculty  for 
gesture,  which  his  parishioners  found  "  impres- 
sive "  —  and  which  they  would  have  found  "  the- 
atrical "  had  they  guessed  that  for  years  it  had 
been  cultivated  daily  before  a  looking-glass.  Why 
invalidate  an  instrument?  To  admiring  friends 
he  said  his  gestures  "  came  to  him."  They  did, 
by  this  time.  He  waved  Conrad's  apologies  aside, 
and  motioning  towards  a  seat,  sank  slowly  into  a 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  83 

Study-chair  himself.  Conrad  ardently  appreciated 
the  pose  of  his  hand  there,  as  —  a  pensive  profile 
supported  by  his  finger-tips  —  the  vicar  asked,  In 
a  voice  to  make  converts :  "  And  what  can  I  do 
for  you?  " 

Yes,  he  remembered  Dr.  Page.  Dr.  Page  was 
dead.  But  soon  it  was  the  vicar's  turn  to  be  ap- 
preciative, for  the  intruder's  glance  kept  straying 
to  the  Canaletto  prints  that  graced  the  walls,  and 
it  was  a  rare  thing  for  Mr.  Irquetson  to  have  a 
visitor  to  whom  they  spoke.  Those  glances 
warmed  his  heart,  and  a  digression  melted  his 
reserve. 

"  There  are  not  many,"  he  said;  *'  but  I  think 
my  small  room  is  the  richer  on  that  account." 

"  Surely,"  said  Conrad.  "  If  a  picture  is  worth 
owning,  it  Is  worth  a  spacious  setting.  A  mere 
millionaire  may  buy  a  gallery,  but  it  takes  a  man 
of  taste  to  hang  a  sketch.  I  have  always  thought 
that  a  picture  calls  for  two  artists  —  one  to  cre- 
ate it,  and  the  other  to  prepare  his  wall  for  its 
reception." 

"  But  how  little  the  second  art  is  understood. 
Of  course  the  eye  should  be  enabled  to  rest  on  a 


84  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

picture  reposefully.  The  custom  of  massing  pic- 
tures in  conflicting  multitudes  is  barbarous.  It 's 
like  the  compression  of  flowers  into  bundles  that 
hide  half  their  loveliness.  The  Western  mind  is 
slowly  learning  from  the  Japanese  that  a  flower 
ought  to  be  displayed  so  that  we  may  appreciate 
its  form.  I  have  hope  that  when  they  have  taught 
us  how  a  flower  should  be  put  in  water,  they  may 
proceed  to  teach  us  how  a  picture  should  be  hung." 

Quite  ten  minutes  passed  in  such  amenities. 

"  Yes,  Dr.  Page  died  long  ago,"  said  the  deep 
voice  again;  but  the  subject  was  resumed  in  a 
manner  almost  intimate;  "  his  wife  was  living  in 
—  Malvern,  I  think.  There  was  —  it  was  com- 
mon knowledge  at  the  time  —  some  domestic  un- 
happiness  late  in  life ;  or  perhaps  it  would  be  more 
correct  to  say  that  it  culminated  late  in  life,  for, 
like  so  many  mighty  issues,  I  believe  it  originated 
in  a  seeming  trifle.  He  was  a  man  acutely  sensi- 
tive to  noise,  and  his  wife  was  decidedly  a  noisy 
woman.  I  remember  his  remarking  once  that  if 
she  but  touched  a  cup  It  had  a  collision  with  all  the 
china  on  the  table,  and  that  a  newspaper  in  her 
hands  became  an  Instrument  of  torture.    No  doubt 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH  85 

he  could  have  controlled  his  irritability,  but  by  all 
accounts  his  temper  grew  unbearable.  However, 
the  news  of  his  death  must  have  been  a  blow  to 
the  lady,  for  he  died  suddenly  soon  after  they  had 
separated.  Death  is  a  wondrous  peacemaker. 
The  gravest  offence  looks  smaller  in  our  eyes  when 
it  is  too  late  to  condone  it." 
"Yes,"  assented  Conrad; 

**  *  And  I  think,  in  the  lives  of  most  women  and  men, 

There  's  a  moment  when  all  would  go  smooth  and 
even. 
If  only  the  dead  could  find  out  when 
To  come  back,  and  be  forgiven.'  " 

"  That  is  a  beautiful  thought,"  said  the  vicar, 
*'  or,  speaking  more  strictly,  I  should  say  it  is  an 
ordinary  thought  beautified.  From  one  of  Owen 
Meredith's  early  poems,  is  n't  it?  But  do  you  re- 
member those  lines  of  Coventry  Patmore's  to  the 
dead? 

"  *  It  is  not  true  that  Love  will  do  no  wrong. 
Poor  Child ! 

And  did  you  think,  when  you  so  cried  and  smiled, 
How  I,  in  lonely  nights,  should  lie  awake, 
And  of  those  words  your  full  avengers  make? 
Poor  Child,  poor  Child ! 


86  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

And  now,  unless  it  be 

That  sweet  amends  thrice  told  are  come  to  thee, 
O  God,  have  Thou  no  mercy  upon  me ! 
Poor  Child!'" 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Conrad,  "exquisite I  I  used 
to  read  Coventry  Patmore  all  day.  Do  you  know 
*  Departure  '  ?  —  '  With  huddled,  unintelligible 
phrase !  *  .  .  .  Ah  I  surely  his  hope  was  not  vain 
—  the  Posterity  he  respected  will  respect  him. 
But  —  but,"  he  bubbled,  "  I  am  so  glad  I  came ! 
My  dear  sir,  you  enchant  me;  your  recognition  of 
Owen  Meredith  alone  would  make  the  interview 
memorable." 

"  Ahl  "  returned  Mr.  Irquetson,  with  a  whimsi- 
cal smile,  "  there  was  once  a  time  when  I  read 
much  poetry  —  and  wrote  much  verse ;  and  I  have 
a  good  memory.  I  remember  "  —  his  trained 
gaze  took  In  the  name,  which  he  had  forgotten,  on 
the  card  —  "I  remember,  Mr.  Warrener,  when 
I  used  to  pray  to  be  a  poet." 

"Do  you  think  prayers  are  ever  answered?" 
inquired  Conrad.  "  In  my  life  I  have  sent  up 
many  prayers,  and  always  with  the  attempt  to  per- 
suade myself  that  some  former  prayer  had  been 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  8/ 

fulfilled.  But  I  knew  —  I  knew  in  my  heart  none 
ever  had  been.  Things  that  I  have  wanted  have 
come  to  me,  but  —  I  say  it  with  all  reverence  — 
at  the  wrong  time,  as  the  means  to  buy  unlimited 
toffee  comes  to  a  man  when  he  has  outgrown  his 
taste  for  sweets." 

Mr.  Irquetson's  fine  hand  wandered  across  his 
brow. 

"  Once,"  he  began  conversationally,  "  I  was 
passing  with  a  friend  through  Grosvenor  Street. 
It  was  when  in  the  spring  the  tenant's  fancy  lightly 
turns  to  coats  of  paint,  and  we  came  to  a  ladder 
leaning  against  a  house  that  was  being  redeco- 
rated. In  stepping  to  the  outer  side  of  the  ladder, 
my  friend  lifted  his  hat  to  it;  you  may  know  the 
superstition?  He  was  a  'Varsity  man,  a  man  of 
considerable  attainments.  I  said,  '  Is  it  possible 
that  you  believe  in  that  nonsense?'  He  said, 
*  N — no,  I  don't  exactly  believe  in  it,  but  I  never 
throw  away  a  chance.'  "  On  a  sudden  his  inflex- 
ion changed,  his  utterance  was  solemn,  stirring, 
devout:  "  '  I  think,  sir,  that  most  people  pray  on 
my  friend's  principle  —  they  don't  believe  in  It, 
but  they  never  throw  away  a  chance.'  " 


88  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

He  had  said  it  before;  the  whole  thing  was  too 
assured,  too  finished,  for  an  impromptu,  but  the 
effect  of  that  modulation  was  superb.  All  the 
artist  in  Conrad  responded  to  it. 

"And  when  they  are  sincere?"  he  questioned, 
after  a  pause;  "for  they  are  sometimes.  Your 
walls  remind  me  how  passionately  I  prayed  to  be 
a  painter.  And  your  own  prayers,  I  take  it,  came 
from  the  soul  when  you  craved  to  be  a  poet." 

"  But  should  I  have  been  more  useful  as  a  poet? 
It  would  n't  have  contented  me  to  write  —  let  us 
say —  '  The  Better  Land,'  and  more  minds  are  to 
be  influenced  by  simple  sermons  than  by  great 
poetry.  You  think,  perhaps,  that  as  a  painter  you 
would  have  been  happier.  But  perhaps  you 
wouldn't.  We  are  often  like  little  children  pe- 
titioning their  parents  for  the  dangerous.  I  will 
not  suggest  that  a  merciful  God  chastises  us  to 
demonstrate  our  error,  but  many  an  observant 
man  must  have  noticed  the  truth  that  what  we 
have  desired  most  strenuously  often  proves  an 
affliction  to  us,  while  the  only  sunshine  in  our  live* 
is  shed  by  the  thing  which  we  prayed  might  never 
come  to  pass." 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS   YOUTH  89 

"  Yes,"  said  Conrad,  thoughtfully,  "  I  have 
seen  more  than  one  example  of  that.  But  if  we 
are  mere  blunderers  beseeching  in  the  dark  —  if 
we  are  like  children  importuning  their  parents 
without  discernment,  as  you  say  —  is  n't  the  act 
of  prayer  futile?    Is  n't  it  even  presumptuous?  " 

Mr.  Irquetson  raised  his  head,  his  eyes  looked 
upward;  "No  —  pray!"  he  said,  and  the  mel- 
ody of  his  tone  gave  glory  to  a  commonplace. 
"  Pray,"  he  repeated,  and  Conrad  wanted  to  kneel 
to  him  then,  there,  on  the  study  floor.  "  One  day 
perhaps  you  will  afford  me  an  opportunity  to  make 
my  thoughts  on  prayer  quite  clear  to  you.     Pray 

—  but  with  fervour,  and  with  sense.  With  humil- 
ity I  Sir,  I  cannot  reconcile  my  faith  in  an  om- 
niscient Creator  with  the  idea  that  it  is  necessary 
to  advise  Him  we  need  rain  in  Rutland  .  .  .  But 
I  'm  withholding  the  little  information  that  I  am 
able  to  give  you.  I  was  about  to  say  that  Mrs. 
Page,  so  far  as  I  know,  lives  still  in  Malvern 

—  or  perhaps  it  was  Matlock;  and  the  eldest 
girl " 

"  Mary?  "  interposed  Conrad. 

"  Quite  so,  *  Mary.'    Mary  married  some  time 


90  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

before  her  father's  death,  and  is  settled  in  London, 
I  think.  My  wife  would  know  her  whereabouts 
better  than  I,  she  is  friendly  with  a  resident  who 
has  some  fitful  correspondence  with  Mrs.  Bailey." 

"  '  Mrs.  Bailey '  is  the  eldest  girl's  married 
name?  " 

"  Well,  it  used  to  be,"  replied  the  clergyman, 
with  another  of  his  smiles.  "  But  I  was  wrong 
*^  I  should  have  said  '  Mrs.  Barchester-Bailey.' 
She  acquired  the  '  Barchester  '  after  the  ceremony; 
I  cannot  supply  its  exegesis.  The  result  of  six 
months  in  the  capital,  I  suppose,  though  it  is  not 
everybody  who  can  make  such  a  great  name  in 
London  in  six  months." 

"  Much  may  be  done  in  six  months;  his  parents 
gave  Keats  to  the  world  in  seven,"  said  Conrad. 
"  I  am  infinitely  grateful  to  you  for  your  kind- 
ness." He  rose.  "  If  Mrs.  Irquetson  should  men- 
tion Mrs.  Barchester-Bailey's  address  to  you,  and 
you  would  have  the  additional  goodness  to  let  me 
know  it " 

"  I  will  drop  you  a  line  to-night  —  or  to-morrow 
at  the  latest,"  declared  the  vicar;  and  he  pencilled 
the  direction  on  the  card. 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  Ql 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Conrad.  "  I  shall  always  be 
your  debtor  for  more  than  the  address,  sir." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  the  vicar,  extending  his  hand; 
and  '  good-bye '  as  he  pronounced  it  was  a 
benediction. 

Conrad  had  been  so  much  impressed  —  so  up- 
lifted by  the  cleric's  manner  —  that,  instead  of 
swinging  homeward  in  high  feather  at  the  end  of 
his  difficulties,  he  proceeded  slowly,  in  serious 
meditation.  It  was  not  until  the  following  after- 
noon when  he  learnt  that  Mrs.  Barchester- 
Bailey's  residence  was  Beau  Sejour,  H3rperion  Ter- 
race, Upper  Tooting,  that  interest  in  his  project 
was  again  keen.  Then  there  was  a  little  throb  in 
his  pulses;  a  little  tremor  stole  from  the  note; 
he  had  annihilated  the  obstacles  of  five-and 
twenty  years  —  it  excited  him  to  realise  that 
he  stood  so  close  to  her  who  had  been  Mary 
Page. 

The  "  Barchester,"  however,  disturbed  him 
somewhat.  A  woman  who  reverenced  apocryphal 
hyphens  promised  less  companionship  than  he  had 
pictured  .  .  .  Perhaps  the  snobbishness  was  her 
husband's.    Tooting?    He  had  a  dim  recollection 


92  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

of  driving  through  It  once,  on  his  way  somewhere. 
Was  it  to  the  Derby? 

Well,  he  supposed  the  correct  course  would  be 
to  write  to  her  and  hint  at  his  return  to  town.  He 
wondered  whether  the  signature  would  waken 
memories  in  her  if  she  perpended  It.  Unless  it  did, 
the  letter  was  likely  to  prove  a  failure  —  he  could 
not  indite  a  very  stimulating  epistle  to  a  married 
woman  of  whom  he  knew  nothing.  Yet  to  call  on 
her  without  writing  —  ?  No,  he  must  stand,  or 
fall,  by  the  signature.  That  would  say  everything, 
if  it  said  anything  at  all  .  .  .  How  stupid,  in  the 
circumstances,  "  Dear  Madam  "  sounded! 

And  what  a  stumbling-block  It  looked ! 

"  Dear  Madam  "  —  he  wrote  —  "  Though  I 
cannot  hope  you  will  be  able  to  recall  my  name,  I 
think  you  may  remember  Mowbray  Lodge.  I  have 
regretted  very  much,  during  my  visit,  that  Mrs. 
Page  is  not  my  neighbour.  It  would  have  given 
me  so  much  pleasure  to  call  on  her,  and  to  meet 
the  family  who  were  such  very  good  comrades 
of  mine  in  the  year  when  this  house  was  a  school, 
kept  by  Mr.  Boultbee,  and  a  posse  of  children 
came  down  for  the  summer  holidays.  Perhaps 
the  names  of  my  cousins,  Nina  and  'Gina,  may  be 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  93 

more  familiar  to  you  than  my  own.  At  least  those 
old-time  friends  of  yours  have  shared  my  disap- 
pointment. It  is  only  since  they  left  that  I  have 
had  the  good  fortune  to  hear  your  address  men- 
tioned. Will  you  pardon  a  stranger  writing  to 
express  this  vehement  interest  on  the  part  of 
people  whom  you  have  probably  forgotten?  If 
I  debated  the  matter  for  long,  my  courage  would 
desert  me,  and  I  should  leave  my  cousins  to  make 
their  own  inquiries  next  week,  when  I  go  back  to 
town.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  and  your  sisters 
remember  us,  pray  believe  that  none  sends  kinder 
regards  to  you  all  than  — 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  Conrad  Warrener." 

**  Come,  I  don't  think  anybody  can  take  excep- 
tion to  that,"  mused  Conrad.  And  he  sent  it  to 
the  post,  with  a  line  of  thanks  to  Mr.  Irquetson. 

On  the  next  evening  but  one  he  began  to  doubt 
if  she  meant  to  reply.  It  seemed  to  him  the  sort 
of  thing  a  woman  would  acknowledge  immedi- 
ately if  she  didn't  mean  to  ignore  it  altogether. 
Yet  why  should  she  ignore  it?  Silence  would  be 
rather  uncivil,  would  n't  It  —  a  humiliation  need- 
lessly inflicted?    If  she  had  reasons  for  wishing 


94  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

to  decline  his  acquaintance,  it  was  quite  possible 
to  prevent  his  advancing,  and  to  frame  an  urbane 
answer  at  the  same  time.  Had  he  said  too  much 
about  Nina  and  'Gina,  appeared  too  much  in  the 
light  of  an  amanuensis?  Surely  she  had  the  wit 
to  understand? 

Four  or  five  days  passed  before  he  tore  open 
an  envelope  stamped  with  the  initials  "  M.  B.  B." 
The  enclosure  began  "  Dear  Sir,"  and  his  brows 
contracted. 

"Dear  Sir"  —  he  read — "I  was  very  sur- 
prised to  receive  your  letter.  What  a  long  time 
ago,  is  it  not?  It  is  very  nice  of  you  all  to  remem- 
ber us  after  so  long.  I  left  Sweetbay  at  the  time 
of  my  marriage,  and  have  been  living  in  Tooting 
some  years  now.  My  mother  has  removed  to 
Matlock.  If  you  or  your  cousins  are  ever  in  the 
neighbourhood  I  shall  hope  to  have  a  chat  over 
old  times.  Please  give  them  my  remembrances, 
With  kind  regards  —  Yours  truly, 

"  Mary  Barchester-Bailey." 

There  were  only  three  wrong  ways  of  begin- 
ning a  response  —  three  blatant  solecisms  —  and 
she  had  chosen   one  of  them   when  she  wrote 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  9j 

"  Dear  Sir."  Conrad  was  disappointed.  The 
"  fair  and  slightly  pathetic  "  figure  of  his  dreams 
grew  fainter;  his  ideal  confidante  didn't  make 
these  mistakes.  He  put  the  missive  in  his  pocket, 
and  drew  dejectedly  at  his  pipe. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  go,"  ran  his  thoughts,  "  but 
I  Ve  made  rather  an  ass  of  myself,  taking  such 
trouble  to  find  her  I  " 


CHAPTER   VI 

The  man  to  whom  he  gave  his  ticket  at  the  station 
of  Balham  and  Upper  Tooting  told  him  that  he 
could  walk  to  Hyperion  Terrace  in  about  ten 
minutes.  He  perceived  that  he  would  reach  the 
house  too  early  if  he  proceeded  there  at  once,  so 
he  strolled  awhile  in  the  opposite  direction.  The 
pavements  were  dry,  and  he  was  thankful,  for  he 
had  seen  no  cab  when  he  came  down  the  station 
stairs,  and  he  would  have  been  chagrined  to  pre- 
sent himself  in  muddy  boots. 

When  he  estimated  that  he  would  arrive  at 
Beau  Sejour  none  too  soon  to  be  welcome,  he 
retraced  his  steps,  and  now  anticipation  warmed 
his  blood  once  more.  After  all,  she  was  the 
woman  who  had  been  Mary  Page  —  it  was  a 
piece  of  his  boyhood  that  awaited  him.  Indeed 
he  was  repentant  that  he  had  cavilled  at  minor 
defects.  By  dint  of  inquiries  he  found  the  way  to 
Hyperion  Terrace.    It  was  new,  and  red,  and  all 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  97 

that  a  man  who  could  call  a  street  "  Hyperion 
Terrace  "  would  naturally  create. 

A  very  small  servant,  wearing  a  very  preten- 
tious cap,  showed  him  at  once  to  the  drawing- 
room,  where  "  The  Soul's  Awakening  "  met  his 
distressed  view,  on  a  pink  and  gold  wall-paper. 
He  heard  flying  footsteps  overhead,  sounds  of 
discomposure ;  there  are  houses  at  which  a  visitor  • 
always  arrives  too  early.  His  nerves  were  tremu- 
lous while  he  sat  alone.  But  Mary's  home  would 
have  pleased  him  better  If  it  had  been  no  more 
than  a  single  room,  with  a  decent  etching  over  a 
bed  masquerading  as  a  sideboard,  and  half-a- 
dozen  shilling  classics  on  a  shelf. 
"  Mr.  Warrener?  How  d'  ye  do?  " 
She  advanced  towards  him  with  a  wide  smile, 
a  large  and  masculine  woman  wearing  a  vivid  silk 
blouse,  and  an  air  of  having  dressed  herself  in  a 
hurry.  She  wore  also  —  with  a  droll  effort  at  de- 
ception —  a  string  of  "  pearls  "  which,  if  it  had 
been  real,  would  have  been  worth  more  than  the 
street.  For  an  instant  his  heart  seemed  to  drop 
into  his  stomach;  and  in  the  next  an  overwhelm- 
ing compassion  for  her  swept  him.     He  could 


9S  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

have  shed  tears  for  her,  as  he  took  her  hand,  ianH 
remembered  that  she  had  once  been  a  dainty  child. 

"  Mrs.  Barchester-Bailey  —  so  good  of  you  to 
let  me  call." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  sure  it  was  very  kind  of  you  tO 
come  I  "  she  said.  "Won't  you  sit  down?  .  .  . 
How  very  odd  that  you  should  have  been 
living  in  Mowbray  Lodge,  isn't  it?  Quite  a 
coincidence." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  yes.  I  wanted  a  place  there, 
and  Mowbray  Lodge  happened  to  be  to  let  for  a 
few  months.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  been 
to  Sweetbay  since  that  summer.  .  .  .  Your  old 
house  looks  just  the  same  —  the  outside  at  least; 
I  've  not  been  in  it." 

"  Really?  "  she  said.     "  Yes  —  does  it?  " 

"  Yes.  .  .  .  And  the  lane  looks  just  the  same 
too,  until  you  get  to  the  field;  and  then  —  then 
there  is  n't  one.  But  perhaps  that  had  vanished 
before  you  left?  " 

"  No,  there  was  no  change  when  I  was  down 
there  last,  but  that 's  a  long  while  ago !  Horrid 
old  place  I  I  'm  very  glad  there  's  nothing  to  take 
me  there  any  more." 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  99 

"Didn't  you  like  It?"  he  asked,  pained. 

"  Oh,  It  was  SO  slow!  I  wonder  how  I  put  up 
with  It  as  long  as  I  did.  Did  n't  you  find  It  slow? 
I  must  have  gaiety.  People  tell  me  I  'm  a  regular 
gadabout,  but  —  "  She  laughed  —  "one's  only 
young  once,  Mr.  Warrener;  I  believe  In  having  a 
good  time  while  I  can.  I  say  I  shall  have  plenty 
of  time  to  be  on  the  shelf  by-and-by." 

She  was  very,  very  plain.  It  was  while  he  was 
thinking  how  plain  she  was,  how  ruthless  the 
years  had  been  to  her,  that  the  sudden  pity  for 
himself  engulfed  him  —  the  pathetic  conscious- 
ness that  she  must  be  reflecting  how  hard  the 
years  had  been  on  hi7n. 

*'  It  can't  be  difficult  for  you  to  have  a  good 
time,"  he  returned,  labouredly  light. 

"Well,  I  don't  think  it  is,"  she  declared;  she 
tossed  her  large  head,  and  rolled  colourless  eyes 
at  him  archly.  "  People  tell  me  I  've  quite  woke 
Tooting  up  since  I  've  been  here,  and  I  must 
say  I  've  done  my  best.  I  must  lead.  I  mean 
to  say  if  I  'd  been  a  man  I  should  have  liked 
to  be  a  great  politician,  or  a  great  general,  you 
know." 


lOO  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"  You  could  be  nothing  more  potent  than  Mrs. 
Barchester-Bailey." 

"  Oh  now  that 's  very  sweet  of  you  I  "  she  said. 
"  But  I  mean  to  say  I  must  lead.  I  started  the 
Tooting  *  Thursdays.'  You  must  n't  think  I  'm 
just  a  frivolous  little  woman  who  cares  for  noth- 
ing but  pleasure  —  I  'm  —  I  'm  very  interested  in 
literature  too.  At  the  '  Thursdays  '  we  have  lit- 
erary discussions.  Next  week  the  subject  is  Miss 
Verbena's  novels.  Now  which  do  you  think  is 
Miss  Verbena's  greatest  novel?" 

He  could  only  assume  that  she  never  saw  a 
comic  paper.  "I  —  I  'm  afraid  I  have  n't  read 
any  of  them,"  he  owned. 

"  Oh  I  Oh,  you  surprise  me.  Oh,  but  you  must : 
they  're  enormously  clever.  Ettie  Verbena  is  quite 
my  favourite  novelist,  excepting  perhaps  that 
dear  man  who  writes  those  immensely  clever 
books  that  never  offend  in  any  way.  So  pure  they 
are,  such  a  true  religious  spirit  in  them!  You 
know,  Mr.  Warrener,  I  'm  a  curious  mixture. 
People  tell  me  that  I  seem  to  enjoy  myself  just 
as  much  talking  to  a  very  clever  man  as  when 
I  'm  romping  through  a  barn-dance.     And  it 's 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH  lOI 

true  you  know ;  that  is  me.  But  I  suppose  you  're 
more  interested  in  stocks  and  shares,  and  things 
like  that,  than  in  books?  " 

"  Well,  I  —  I  should  n't  describe  myself  as 
widely-read,"  answered  Conrad;  "still  books  do 
interest  me." 

"  Oh  well,  then,  you  must  come  on  one  of  my 
At-Home  days  next  time,"  she  said  graciously; 
"  one  of  the  ladies  you  '11  meet  writes  for  '  Win- 
some Words,'  and  you  '11  meet  several  people 
you  '11  like." 

"  I  should  be  charmed,"  he  said. 

The  servant  bustled  in,  and  carried  a  bamboa 
table  to  the  hearth.     As  she  threw  the  teacloth . 
over  it,  a  cold  wind  blew  through  his  hair. 

"Do  your  cousins  live  in  London?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Barchester-Bailey,  with  the  tail  of  a  worried 
eye  on  the  maid's  blunders. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  yes,  they  do.  But  I  have  n't 
seen  them  since  I  came  back.  I  'm  not  sure 
whether  they  're  in  town." 

"  Are  they  married?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  again.  "  Oh  yes,  they  're  mar- 
ried—  both  of  them." 


X02  CONRAD   IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"Where  arc  they?"  she  asked;  "anywhere 
this  way?  " 

"No;  unfortunately  they're  a  long  way  off. 
That's  the  drawback  to  town,  Isn't  it?  Every- 
body lives  at  such  a  distance  from  everybody 
else." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said;  "  one  can  get 
about  so  quickly  nowadays.  What  part  are  they 
in?" 

"  Nina  lives  in  Regent's  Park,"  he  replied, 
"  where  the  mists  are." 

"Oh,  really?  Regent's  Park?"  She  seemed 
impressed.  "  I  was  wondering  whether  she  would 
care  to  join  our  Thursday  debates  —  we  want  to 
get  as  many  members  as  we  can.  Two  of  the 
ladies  come  over  from  Wandsworth,  but  from  Re- 
gent's Park  it  would  be  a  drag  certainly.  Shall 
I  put  in  sugar  and  milk?  " 

"  Please."  He  took  the  cup,  and  sat  down 
again  —  and  knew  that  he  had  entered  on  that 
grade  of  society  where  there  are  no  more  men 
and  women,  and  they  all  become  "  ladies  "  and 
"  gentlemen." 

"  And  the  other  one  —  'Gina?  "  she  continued. 


CONRAD   IN   QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH  IO3 

He  felt  very  uncomfortable ;  he  would  n't  say 
"  Mayfalr." 

"  'Gina  lives  further  west,"  he  murmured. 
"  No,  I  won't  have  any  cake,  thank  you." 

"Then  your  cousins  are  quite  high  up?"  she 
exclaimed. 

"'High  up?'" 

"  They  're  quite  swells?  " 

"  Oh !  "  he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  No,  I 
don't  think  I  should  call  them  that.  Too  swell  for 
me,  rather,  but  then  I  'm  half  a  Colonial,  and  the 
other  half  a  bohemian.  I  have  n't  been  Home 
long  —  it 's  all  strange  to  me ;  until  I  came  out 
here  to-day  I  had  no  idea  London  could  be  so 
picturesque.  How  glorious  your  Common  must 
be  in  the  summer!  " 

"  So  healthy  1  "  she  said  promptly;  "  the  air  Is 
so  fine.  We  moved  here  from  the  West-end  for 
the  children's  sake." 

"  You  have  children?  " 

"  Oh  I  "  she  rolled  her  eyes  again.  "  Four,  Mr. 
Warrener.  My  eldest  boy  is  getting  quite  big  — 
people  tell  me  they  would  n't  believe  he  was  mine 
at  all,  but  it  makes  me  feel  quite  old  sometimes, 


i04  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

to  look  at  him.  I  think  it 's  cruel  of  children  to 
grow  up,  don't  you?  " 

He  stifled  a  sad  assent.  "  Sometimes  they  grow 
up  still  more  charming,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  now,  that's  very  sweet  of  you!  Now 
really  that 's  very  pretty.  But  I  mean  to  say  I 
think  it 's  cruel  to  us  when  they  shoot  up  so  fast. 
You  're  not  married  yourself  yet,  eh?  " 

"  No,  I  hate  asking  favours," 

"What  a  modest  way  of  putting  it!  But  you 
should.  A  good  wife  would  be  the  making  of  you, 
and  give  you  something  to  think  about.  Don't 
you  know  that?  " 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it.  A  man  can  have  no  greater 
blessing'  than  a  good  wife  —  excepting  none,"  he 
concluded  mentally.  "  Shall  I  be  allowed  to  see 
them  before  I  go?  " 

"  The  children?  Would  you  like  to?  Dudley 
is  out,  but  the  others  are  just  going  to  have  tea 
in  the  next  room.  My  husband  is  n't  back  from 
the  city  yet,  of  course.  Oh,  the  city!  What  a 
hold  it  does  get  on  you  men.  As  if  it  really  mat- 
tered whether  you  made  an  extra  thousand  pounds 
one  month  or  not !  "    A  trayful  of  crockery  rat- 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  IO5 

tied,  and  the  footsteps  of  the  little  servant  thudded 
through  the  passage. 

"You're  quite  right,"  said  Conrad.  "What 
does  it  matter,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it?  " 

"  Not  but  what  Herbert 's  the  best  of  boys," 
she  added.  "  If  it  were  n't  that "  She  hesi- 
tated, she  endeavoured  to  look  confused.  "  The 
fact  is,  he's  —  he's  jealous,  he's  a  very  jealous 
man.  Not  that  he  has  any  reason  to  be  —  not 
exactly.  Of  course  I  'm  awfully  fond  of  him ; 
he  's  a  dear  old  silly!  But  I  mean  to  say  I  can't 
help  it  when  men  want  to  talk  to  me  —  now  can 
I?  If  I  get  half-a-dozen  men  round  me,  even 
though  we  're  only  talking  about  the  simplest 
thing,  he  does  n't  like  it.  Of  course  it  makes  It 
awfully  awkward  for  me  socially." 

"It  must,"  responded  Conrad;  "yes,  I  can 
understand  that." 

"  I  tell  him  he  should  have  married  a  different 
woman."    She  giggled. 

"  Ah,  but  how  unreasonable  of  you  I  "  he  said. 
"Then  —  if  they  won't  mind  being  disturbed  — 
I  am  really  to  sec  your  children?  " 

"  Oh,  they  won't  mind  at  all,  but  I  'm  afraid 


I06  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

you  '11  find  them  very  untidy  —  they  'vc  just  been 
having  high  jinks." 

She  led  him  to  them  presently,  and  slammed  the 
door  behind  her.  It  shook,  his  thoughts  to  the 
clergyman's  description  of  Mrs.  Page.  Heredity 
again,  perhaps.  Two  girls  of  about  twelve  or 
fourteen  years  of  age  and  a  boy  in  a  pinafore  were 
sitting  at  a  table.  At  their  mother  and  the  visi- 
tor's entrance,  they  all  took  their  hands  off  the 
cloth  and  stared. 

"  And  so  this  is  the  family?  "  cried  Conrad,  try- 
ing to  sound  enthusiastic.  "  How  do  you  do? 
And  will  you  say  '  how  do  you  do  '  to  me,  my  little 
man?" 

Three  limp  hands  flopped  to  him  in  turn,  and 
he  stood  contemplating  the  group,  while  the  lady 
cooed  silly  questions  to  them,  and  elicited  dull, 
constrained  replies.  They  were  not  attractive  chil- 
dren; they  were  indeed  singularly  uninteresting 
children  —  even  for  other  people's,  whose  virtues 
seldom  strike  us  vividly.  To  Conrad,  who  failed 
to  allow  sufficiently  for  their  shyness,  they  ap- 
peared stupidity  personified.  "  Yes,"  and  "  No," 
they  answered;    and  their  eyes  were  round,  and 


CONRAD   IN   QUEST  OF    HIS   YOUTH  IQ7 

their  mouths  ajar.  Like  all  children,  from  the 
lower  to  the  middle  classes  inclusive,  they  pro- 
claimed instantaneously  the  social  stratum  of  their 
parents.  With  a  monosyllable  a  child  will  do  this. 
It  is  by  no  means  impossible  for  a  man  to  ex- 
change remarks  with  a  girl  from  a  show-room, 
and  at  the  end  of  five  minutes  to  be  still  uncertain 
to  what  class  she  belongs.  But  when  the  intru- 
sive little  cub  in  the  sailor  suit  romps  up  to  her, 
he  betrays  the  listless  beauty's  entourage  with  the 
first  slovenly  words  he  drops. 

"  Have  your  cousins  any  children,  Mr.  War- 
rener?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  oh  yes,  they  have  three  or 
four  each."  He  was  speculating  what  individu- 
ality lay  concealed  behind  the  vacant  fronts. 
Their  mother  had  been  no  older  than  the  eldest 
when  he  was  sick  with  romance  for  her  —  oh, 
positively  "  romance,"  although  its  expression  had 
been  ludicrous  in  that  period.  Was  it  possible 
that  these  meaningless  little  girls  also  had  pre- 
cocity and  sweethearts?  Appalling  thought  — 
had  Mary  been  so  unpleasant?  Had  he  idealised 
a  dirty  mouth  ? 


I08  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

"  I  should  like  to  see  them.  I  wish  Nina  and 
—  er  —  *Gina  would  come  over  one  morning  to 
lunch."  Her  tone  was  painfully  eager.  "  Or 
I  might  look  them  up.  Do  you  know  their 
'days'?" 

"  No,"  he  murmured,  "  I  can't  say  I  do. 
I " 

"  Perhaps  they  '11  come  with  you  next  time?  " 

"  I  hope  you  '11  see  them  sooner;  it 's  more  than 
likely  I  go  back  to  Paris  in  a  day  or  two  —  I  only 
left  a  few  weeks  ago.  I  may  remain  there  through 
the  year." 

"Oh,  really?"  she  exclaimed.  "Then  you 
have  no  business  in  London?  Mary,"  she  broke 
off  impatiently,  "what  is  it?  What  is  Ferdie 
fidgeting  about  for  —  what  does  he  want?" 

"Jam,  ma,"  said  the  plainer  of  the  girls  in  a 
whisper. 

"  What  do  you  say?    Do  speak  up,  dear." 

"  Jam,  ma,"  repeated  her  daughter;  "  he  wants 
jam  on  the  first  piece." 

"  Well,  give  him  it  then.  Only  this  once,  now, 
darling.  You  shouldn't  tease  him  so,  Mary  — 
remember  he 's  a  very  little  boy." 


CONRAD   IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH  lOQ 

Mary  minor  leant  towards  him,  and  Conrad 
thought  she  muttered  "  Little  pigl  " 

"Then  you  have  nothing  to  do  in  London?" 
resumed  the  lady,  as  he  followed  her  from  the 
room. 

"  Quite  all  that  I  hoped  to  do  In  London  I  have 
done  this  afternoon,"  he  smiled.  "  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  call  on  anybody 
else  before  I  leave."  But  he  saw  clearly  that  she 
wanted  to  know  the  women  who  were  "  high  up," 
and  he  was  self-reproachful.  Distressed,  he 
wished  that  he  had  made  no  reference  to  them  in 
his  letter. 

"  Sha'n't  you  even  go  to  see  your  cousins?" 
she  persisted.  "  But  you  say  you  're  not  sure  if 
they  're  in  town?  If  they  are,  any  day  would  suit 
me.    If  they  would  drop  me  a  line " 

"No,"  he  said,  "I'm  not  sure;  I  haven't 
heard  from  either  of  them  since  they  left  Sweet- 
bay."  He  was  at  the  point  of  mentioning  Nina's 
address;  he  reminded  himself  that  he  had  a  duty 
to  Nina  too. 

Yet  a  moment  later  he  succumbed.  The  re- 
membrance of  what  he  had  written,  even  civility 


no  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

Itself,  prevented  his  parrying  so  keen  an  aim  as 
Mrs.  Barchester-Bailey's.  He  mentioned  the  ad- 
dress, and  he  said  how  pretty  the  plain  chil- 
dren were,  and  regretted  that  her  husband  was 
not  in.  He  sat  smiling  at  boredom  for  five 
minutes  longer,  and  when  he  escaped  at  last 
he  had  the  reward  of  knowing  that  she  thought 
he  admired  her  very  much.  He  had  owed  her 
that. 

As  he  felt  the  air  in  his  lungs  he  thanked  heaven. 
Well,  he  would  explain  the  occurrence  to  Nina, 
who  would  consider  him  an  idiot,  and  tell  her  to 
expect  a  speedy  visit.  The  rest  lay  with  the  visitor 
herself  —  with  her  powers  to  please.  For  his 
own  part,  never,  never  did  he  want  to  see  her 
again.  He  walked  fast,  her  image  still  pursuing 
him.    What  an  exhausting  woman ! 

He  dined  at  his  club  and  wondered  if  it  would 
be  bad  taste  for  so  new  a  member  to  make  a  com- 
plaint to  the  committee.  Afterwards  he  drifted 
into  a  music-hall,  where  quailing  brutes  who  had 
been  created  to  scamper  on  four  legs  were  dis- 
torted to  maintain  a  smirking  brute  who  was  un- 
worthy to  walk  on  two.    The  animals'  sufferings 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH  III 

(diverted  the  audience  vastly,  and  the  applause 
sickened  Conrad  more  than  the  club  dinner. 

And  though  his  disappointment  at  Tooting  may 
sound  a  very  trivial  matter,  it  continued  to  depress 
him.  He  was  sad,  not  because  one  woman  was 
different  from  what  he  had  hoped  to  find  her,  but 
because  the  difference  in  the  one  woman  typified 
so  much  that  seemed  pathetic  to  him  in  life.  And 
to  sneer  at  him  as  a  sentimentalist  absorbed  by 
opal-tinted  sorrows  blown  of  indolence,  would  not 
be  conclusive.  It  is,  of  course,  natural  that  those 
of  us  who  have  to  struggle  should  set  up  the  Man 
of  Leisure  as  a  figure  to  be  pelted  with  precepts 
—  indeed,  we  pelt  so  hard  at  the  silver  spoon  in 
his  mouth  that  between  the  shies  we  might  well 
reflect  that  Ethics  is  often  an  alias  of  Envy  —  but 
with  Conrad  the  leisure  was  quite  recent  and  the 
sentiment  had  ached  for  years.  In  his  case  wealth 
had  not  formed  a  temperament,  wealth  had  simply 
freed  it. 

Let  us  accept  him  as  he  was.  My  business  is  to 
present,  not  to  defend.  Were  tales  tellable  only 
when  the  "  hero  "  fulfilled  both  definitions  of  the 
word,  reviewers  would  have  less  to  do.    If  I  could 


112  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

draw,  a  frontispiece  should  enlist  your  sympathies 
for  him:  "  Conrad  and  the  Coquette;  "  for  that 
is  Youth  —  a  laughing  jilt  showing  us  her  heels, 
and  tempting  over  her  dimpled  shoulder  as  she 
flies. 

This  is  where  you  begin  to  think  me  insufferably 
dull.  I  see  your  fair  brow  clouding,  I  can  see 
your  beautiful  lips  shaping  to  say,  "  Oh,  bother!  " 
Be  patient  with  me;  we  have  arrived  at  a  brief 
interval  in  which  nothing  particular  happened. 
It  is  true  that  soon  afterwards  Conrad  went  to 
Monte  Carlo,  but  details  would  not  interest  you 
in  the  least.  Be  gracious  to  me ;  yield  to  the  book 
another  finger-tip  —  I  feel  it  slipping.  Say, 
"  Poor  drivel  as  it  is,  a  man  has  written  it  in  the 
hope  of  pleasing  me."  For  he  has  indeed.  On 
many  a  fine  morning  I  have  plodded  when  I  would 
rather  have  sunned  myself  where  the  band  played; 
on  many  an  evening  I  have  wound  my  feet  round 
the  legs  of  the  table  and  budged  not,  when  the 
next  room  and  a  new  novel  —  paid  for  and  un- 
opened—  wooed  me  as  with  a  siren  song.  And 
all  to  win  a  smile  from  You. 

I  have  thought  of  you  so  often,  and  wanted  to 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH  II3 

know  you ;  you  don't  realise  how  I  have  longed  to 
meet  you  —  to  listen  to  you,  to  have  you  lift  the 
veil  that  hides  your  mind  from  me.  Sometimes  in 
a  crowd  I  have  fancied  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  you ; 
I  can't  explain  —  the  poise  of  the  head,  a  look  in 
the  eyes,  there  was  something  that  hinted  it  was 
You.  And  in  a  whirlwind  of  an  instant  it  almost 
seemed  that  you  would  recognise  me ;  but  you  said 
no  word  —  you  passed,  a  secret  from  me  still.  To 
yourself  where  you  are  sitting  you  are  just  a 
charming  woman,  with  "  a  local  habitation  and  a 
name;  "  but  to  me  you  are  not  Miss  or  Madam, 
not  M.  or  N.,  you  are  a  Power,  and  I  have  sought 
you  by  a  name  you  have  not  heard  —  you  are  my 
Public. 

And  O  my  Lady,  I  am  speaking  to  you  1  I  feel 
your  presence  in  my  senses,  though  you  are  far 
away,  and  I  can't  hear  your  answer.  I  do  wrong 
to  speak  like  this;  I  may  be  arraigned  for  speak- 
ing; I  have  broken  laws  for  the  honour  of  ad- 
dressing you  —  among  all  the  men  who  have  wor- 
shipped you,  has  one  done  more?  —  and  I  will 
never  offend  again.  But  in  this  breathless  minute 
while  I  dare,  I  would  say:  "  Remember  that  over- 


114  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

leaf,  and  in  every  line  unto  the  end  I  shall  be 
picturing  you^  working  for  you,,  trembling  lest  you 
frown."  Unto  the  End.  Forgive  me.  I  have 
sinned,  but  I  exult  —  it  is  as  if  I  had  touched  your 
hand  across  the  page. 


CHAPTER   VII 

Conrad  drifted  from  the  Riviera  with  the  rest, 
and  lingered  through  June  in  Paris;  not  on  the 
left  bank  this  time  —  in  the  Paris  of  the  Boule- 
vards and  the  Bois,  where  he  was  a  world  away 
from  the  quarter  where  he  had  run  to  clasp  the 
illusions  of  his  youth,  and  stayed  to  mourn  them. 
Although  he  was  finding  life  pleasant,  there  were 
moments  when  he  looked  at  the  bridges,  and  felt 
wistful;  but  he  never  crossed  one  —  he  knew  now 
that  he  could  not  walk  over  the  Pont  Neuf  into 
the  Past. 

Nor  was  it  with  any  definite  purpose  that  he 
returned  to  London.  Amusement,  agreeable  so- 
ciety had  lulled  that  desire  to  revisit  old  scenes. 
And  his  experiments  had  been  such  failures:  the 
endeavour  to  recapture  his  fervour  as  an  art- 
student;  the  ludicrous  attempt  to  revive  in  cynical 
adults  the  buoyant  comradery  of  childhood;    the 


Il6  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

interest  in  the  little  girl  whom  time  had  turned  into 
the  least  interesting  of  women  —  it  was  with  a 
mental  blush  that  he  recalled  these  follies.  If  he 
thought  no  less  tenderly  of  his  youth,  he  thought 
of  it  less  often;  if  he  was  still  liable  to  a  sense  of 
bereavement,  he  was  now  idling  as  conventionally 
as  any  other  man  of  his  class. 

He  arrived  in  London  while  the  sun  shone,  and 
told  the  cabman  to  drive  to  the  Carlton,  where 
some  Americans  whom  he  liked  in  Monte  Carlo 
had  talked  of  staying.  After  he  had  made  himself 
presentable,  he  descended  to  the  palm  court,  and 
ordered  tea,  since  tea  was  in  evidence,  and  glanced 
round  the  groups  that  sipped  and  chatted.  His 
Americans  were  not  there  —  perhaps  they  had 
been  faithful  to  the  American  hotel.  By-and-by 
he  inquired  about  them,  and  learnt  that  they  were 
unknown.  He  was  hipped,  for  they  had  been 
companionable,  and  one  of  the  women  was  very 
pretty.  He  felt  rather  "  out  of  it "  among  the 
dawdling  groups. 

During  dinner  he  asked  himself  to  what  theatre 
he  should  go.  He  remembered  reading  recently 
that  a  farcical  comedy  had  scored  a  great  succesSi 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  II 7 

and  decided  to  go  to  see  that.  One  of  his  oddities 
was  a  reluctance  to  inconvenience  people  by  pass- 
ing in  front  of  them  in  a  theatre  after  the  curtain 
had  risen,  so  he  did  n't  dally  at  the  table.  The 
piece  began  at  a  quarter  past  eight.  He  had  a  cup 
of  coffee,  and  a  red  Grand  Marnier,  and  slid  into 
a  hansom.  There  would  be  just  time  to  smoke  a 
cigarette  comfortably  during  the  drive. 

Hansoms  darted  everywhere  in  the  pale  even- 
ing —  a  man  and  a  friend,  a  man  and  a  girl,  a 
man  going  to  meet  a  girl.  From  Pall  Mall  the  line 
of  liveries  rolled  up  endlessly,  the  broughams  and 
landaus  flashing  glimpses  of  coiffures,  and  jewelled 
ears,  and  flowers.  Where  a  block  occurred  in  the 
traffic,  a  young  man,  who  had  paused  on  the  curb, 
in  a  dress-suit  that  looked  rather  tight  for  him, 
bowed  delightedly  to  the  occupants  of  a  victoria, 
and  they  beamed  in  response.  The  encounter  was 
gratifying  on  both  sides,  for  the  young  man  had 
not  often  occasion  to  put  on  a  dress-suit,  and  his 
acquaintances  had  not  long  acquired  a  carriage. 
Conrad,  who  missed  the  humour  of  the  incident, 
was  again  sensible  of  loneliness  in  an  atmosphere 
where  everybody  seemed  to  know  someone  but 


Il8  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

himself.  But  as  he  passed  a  barrow  at  the  corner 
of  a  side  street  he  appreciated  the  humour  of  a 
costermonger  shouting,  "  Liedy,  I  can  sell  you 
some  o'  the  finest  cherries  that  was  ever  brought 
into  this  country!  " 

When  he  entered  the  house  the  overture  was 
being  played,  and  as  he  squeezed  towards  his 
chair  a  faint  hope  rose  of  discerning  his  Monte 
Carlo  companions  among  the  audience.  He  sat 
down,  between  a  lady  with  a  moustache  and  a 
youth  who  was  trying  to  cultivate  one,  and  scanned 
the  profiles  that  were  visible,  but  there  was  none 
he  recognised. 

The  attendants  were  still  busy;  in  his  velvet 
fauteuil  he  watched  the  arrivals  almost  as  eagerly 
as  the  Poor  had  watched  them  on  the  pavement. 
What  white  backs  the  women  had  when  they 
slipped  them  out  of  their  cloaks!  he  wondered  if 
it  was  safe  for  them  to  lean  against  the  seats. 
With  what  geometrical  perfection  the  hair  mar- 
gined the  napes  of  their  slender  necks!  how  did 
they  do  it? 

The  rising  excitement  of  the  overture  warned 
him  that  it  was  about  to  bang  to  an  end.    His  pro- 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  II9 

gramme  had  fallen  to  the  floor.  He  stooped  for  It 
with  the  idea  of  looking  at  the  cast  before  the 
lights  were  lowered. 

At  this  moment  the  lady  in  the  stall  next  to  him 
took  out  her  handkerchief. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

As  she  did  so  the  curtain  went  up,  and  showed  a 
divided  scene.  On  the  right,  the  stage  represented 
the  office  of  a  matrimonial  agent;  on  the  left,  the 
office  of  an  agent  who  obtained  "  reliable  evidence 
for  divorce."  But  Conrad  was  not  attending. 
The  two  careers  were  followed  by  the  same  person 
under  different  names  —  his  introductions  in  the 
first  capacity  led  to  business  in  the  second.  He 
explained  this  soon  after  he  bustled  on,  and  the 
audience  laughed.  But  Conrad  did  not  hear.  The 
lady  still  held  her  handkerchief,  a  scrap  of  lawn 
and  lace  that  was  scented  with  chypre  —  and  he 
had  been  heaved  to  Rouen  and  was  seventeen 
years  old  there,  by  the  side  of  The  Woman  We 
Never  Forget. 

For  in  the  life  of  every  man,  whether  he  will 
own  it  or  not,  there  is  at  least  one  unmentioned 
woman  whom  he  never  permanently  forgets  while 
he  keeps  his  faculties.  She  may  not  be  the  best,  or 
the  prettiest,  or  even  the  nicest  woman  he  has 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH  121 

loved  —  not  her  virtues,  but  his  madness,  graved 
so  deep  —  and  he  will  take  the  impression  out 
sometimes  when  he  has  lost  his  figure  and  his  hair, 
and  when  a  boy  who  is  storing  experiences  on  his 
own  account  calls  him  "  the  governor."  No,  her 
qualities  have  as  little  to  do  with  the  matter  as  the 
date  on  her  birth  certificate.  A  woman  is  n't  her 
age,  or  herself;  she  is  what  she  makes  us  feel  — 
like  art,  and  nature,  like  a  musical  phrase,  or  a 
line  of  words,  like  everything  of  suggestion  and 
mystery.  The  woman  her  husband  hates  and  her 
lover  adores,  is  an  equally  vivid  personality  to 
both  men.  That  to  herself  she  is  vividly  a  third 
character  makes  no  difference  to  the  view  of  either 
of  them. 

To  say  that  on  the  few  occasions  Conrad  had 
smelt  chypre  during  the  last  twenty  years  it  had 
never  failed  to  "  remind  "  him  of  Mrs.  Adaile  — 
to  say  this  would  be  to  imply  that  he  yielded  him- 
self leisurely  to  reverie,  and  it  would  sound  truer 
than  the  truth.  But  the  fact  is  that  there  was  noth- 
ing voluntary  at  all  in  what  occurred.  It  was  a 
physical  swirl  that  the  smell  always  caused  him, 
and  it  left  him  vibrant  for  a  few  seconds  with  the 


122  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

very  craving,  the  very  sickness  of  the  time  when 
he  had  worshipped  her.  He  often  thought  of  her, 
even  strummed  a  song  she  used  to  sing,  but  In  such 
moments  as  these  he  was  less  conscious  of  thinking 
than  of  feeling.  Normally  he  looked  back  at  her, 
with  the  reflections  of  a  man;  when  he  smelt 
chypre  he  was  near  her  again,  with  the  tremors  of 
a  boy. 

Life  is  less  consistent  than  fiction,  even  than 
tolerably  bad  fiction.  "  What  perfume  do  you 
use?"  wrote  Maupassant  to  a  correspondent 
whom  he  had  not  seen,  but  who  had  made  him 
curious.  Her  answer  —  if  it  had  n't  been  "  none  " 
—  would  have  meant  a  thousand  times  more  to 
him  than  it  would  mean  to  the  man  in  the  crowd, 
but  it  might  very  easily  have  misled  him  too.  In 
fiction,  Conrad  was  dimly  aware,  Mrs.  Adalle  and 
chypre  would  never  have  been  associated;  It 
was  n't  faint  enough,  fresh  enough,  it  was  n't  ma- 
tutinal enough  for  Mrs.  Adalle;  to  one  who  had 
not  seen  her  It  could  never  be  evocative.  Yet  — 
perhaps  it  had  been  a  passing  fancy,  even  an  ex- 
periment —  in  some  days  that  were  immortal  to 
him  chypre  had  been  her  scent. 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  123 

The  piece  became  funny  by-and-by,  and  he  be- 
gan to  listen  to  it,  but  though  the  sensations  wak- 
ened by  the  lady's  handkerchief  subsided,  the 
memories  did  no  more  than  doze.  Between  the 
acts,  and  when  he  left  the  theatre,  they  beset  him 
with  full  force.  As  he  strolled  to  the  club,  he  sur- 
rendered to  them.  He  had  recalled  Mrs.  Adaile 
so  often,  so  often  re-enacted  scenes  with  her,  and 
mocked  himself  that  he  had  not  played  them  dif- 
ferently, that  the  episode  seemed  to  him  by  no 
means  so  remote  as  it  was ;  it  seemed  much  closer 
than  many  episodes  that  had  happened  since.  It 
was  with  a  shock  in  the  reading-room  that  he 
counted  the  years.  Was  it  possible?  Good 
heavens  I  how  time  flew.  It  indicates  the  fervour 
of  his  mood  to  say  that  when  he  made  this  re- 
flection it  had  to  him  a  sense  of  novelty. 

Then  she  must  be  —  Again  "  Good  heavens !  " 
That  girl!  —  for  she  had  been  but  a  girl,  although 
she  was  married  and  he  had  felt  himself  a  child 
beside  her.  He  remembered  the  afternoon  when 
she  came  to  the  hotel  and  he  told  his  people  that 
"  the  most  beautiful  woman  he  had  ever  seen  " 
had  just  arrived.     Well,  she  figured  still  as  one 


124  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

of  the  most  beautiful  women  he  had  ever  seen. 
But  was  that  twenty  years  ago  ? 

What  a  babe  he  had  been !  And  he  used  to  be- 
lieve himself  sapient  for  his  age.  .  .  .  Well,  per- 
haps in  some  things !  How  stupid  he  must  have 
seemed  to  her  for  a  boy  of  seventeen!  Yet  she 
used  to  confide  in  him  on  the  terrace.  He  could 
not  have  seemed  so  stupid  to  her  after  all?  .  .  . 
Innocent. 

That  night  on  the  terrace  —  always  the  terrace, 
it  appeared  I  —  when  she  let  him  hold  her  hand, 
and  bent  her  face  to  him,  saying,  "  A  mosquito  has 
bitten  me  on  the  cheek  —  look."  As  if  it  were 
yesterday  he  could  remember  how  his  heart 
pounded,  and  the  fatuous  words  he  muttered  in 
his  tight  throat.  He  wished  forcefully  now  that 
he  had  had  the  courage!  What  atom  of  differ- 
ence would  it  make  to-day?  Yet  he  did  wish  that 
he  had  had  the  courage.  O  imbecile!  .  .  .  But 
how  exquisite  it  all  was;  if  it  could  only  come  over 
again ! 

There  were  no  more  than  two  men  besides  him- 
self in  the  room;  one  of  them  was  reading,  and 
the  other  slept.    The  silence  was  absolute  until  a 


CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH  125 

page  sped  in  to  bawl  the  name  of  a  memb'er  who 
wasn't  there,  and  sped  forth  to  bawl  for  him 
somewhere  else.  The  man  who  had  slept  said 
*'  damn  "  very  softly,  and  turned  to  sleep  on  the 
other  side. 

Conrad  lay  back  in  the  deep  chair,  and  let  fancy 
reign.  There  were  many  gaps,  but  there  were 
moments  that  made  the  calendar  unreal.  He  re- 
membered intimately  things  that  she  had  said  to 
him  —  oddly  enough,  more  of  the  things  that  he 
had  said  to  her.  He  stared  at  his  whisky-and- 
potash,  and  mentally  relived  the  story.  And  this 
is  the  story  he  relived :  — 


CHAPTER   IX 

The  boy  came  to  the  French  windows  paint- 
smeared  and  tired.  He  had  been  to  Bonsecours, 
where  the  monument  of  Jeanne  D'Arc  is  now,  and 
tried  to  make  a  study  of  the  landscape  from  the 
Cemetery.  On  the  boat  —  they  had  no  dream  of 
electric  trams  then  —  the  immensity  of  his  failure 
had  filled  him  with  alarm.  A  tall,  slight  woman 
was  standing  in  the  salon,  with  her  back  to  him. 
She  wore  a  pale  coloured  travelling  coat,  and  a 
hat  with  a  wing  in  it.  As  his  step  sounded  on  the 
terrace  she  turned,  and  he  forgot  the  landscape. 
He  passed  awkwardly,  vnd  was  troubled  after- 
wards by  the  thought  that  he  should  have  bowed. 

He  said  to  his  mother:  "The  most  beautiful 
woman  you  've  ever  seen  is  downstairs ;  I  wonder 
if  she  means  to  stay." 

"  She  is  staying,"  answered  his  mother.  "  She  's 
Grice  Adaile's  wife  —  the  man  who  made  that 
speech  in  the  House  the  other  day.  Well,  is  Bon- 
secours worth  going  to?  " 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  127 

"Rather!  "  he  said.  He  was  still  thinking  of 
the  woman's  delicate,  wistful  face. 

He  thought  of  it  while  he  dressed  for  dinner. 
He  had  thought  of  nothing  latterly  but  that  he 
would  be  studying  art  in  Paris  soon,  had  wished 
for  nothing  but  to  escape  before  his  parents  could 
withdraw  their  consent.  All  at  once  he  would 
have  regretted  to  learn  that  he  was  leaving 
suddenly. 

At  table  she  was  opposite  him;  she  sat  next  to 
Miss  McGuire.  He  perceived  that  they  were 
friends  and  was  dismayed,  for  Miss  McGuire  con- 
sidered he  had  been  impertinent  to  her  and  no 
longer  spoke  to  him.  He  recognised  blankly  that 
the  beautiful  woman  would  be  told  he  was  a  cub. 

If  he  had  done  wrong  his  punishment  had  over- 
taken him:  Mrs.  Adaile  vouchsafed  no  word  to 
him  for  days.  Her  disapproval  humbled  him  so 
much  that  he  used  to  leave  the  salon  when  she 
was  laughing  with  his  mother  and  the  rest.  He 
hoped  she  would  observe  he  was  humiliated,  and 
be  stirred  with  pity;  it  seemed  to  him  he  must 
awaken  her  respect  by  the  course  he  was  adopting. 
Incongruously  there  was  an  element  of  unacknowl- 


128  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

edged  joy  in  his  distress;  it  was  not  without  its 
exultation,  to  think  that  Mrs.  Adaile  was  being 
heartless  to  him  —  to  feel  that  she  was  making 
him  suffer. 

But  it  was  with  thanksgiving  he  heard  that  Miss 
McGuire  had  said  she  wished  he  would  apologise; 
she  had  forbidden  him  to  address  her.  He  fol- 
lowed her  from  the  dining-room,  and  begged  her 
pardon  in  the  hall.  She  replied:  "  You  're  a  nice 
boy  really;  I'm  so  glad  you've  said  you're 
sorry."  He  wanted  to  tell  her  that  he  appreciated 
her  kindness,  but  he  could  only  falter,  and  grip  her 
hand.  It  discomfited  him  to  know  that  he  was 
blushing. 

In  the  afternoon  he  was  sitting  on  the  terrace, 
with  a  sketching-block  on  his  knees,  and  Mrs. 
Adaile  came  out  through  the  windows.  She  saun- 
tered to  and  fro.  He  could  n't  lift  his  eyelids 
when  she  approached,  but  each  time  he  listened, 
tense  with  the  frou-frou  of  her  skirt.  All  his  con- 
sciousness was  strung  to  the  question  whether  she 
would  stop. 

"  May  I  look?"  she  said. 

The  sensation  was  in  his  chest  —  he  felt  as  if 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH  129 

his  chest  had  gone.  She  stood  there,  amused  by 
his  symptoms,  for  two  or  three  minutes,  and 
moved  away.  He  was  incredibly  excited,  bound- 
lessly happy  until  he  began  to  think  of  the  better 
answers  he  might  have  made.  Visions  of  the 
evening  and  the  morrow  dazzled  him;  when  he 
went  inside  it  was  not  the  same  hotel  to  him,  they 
were  not  the  same  rooms.  It  does  not  take 
a  woman  six  days  to  create  a  world  for  any 
man. 

By  the  end  of  the  week  he  talked  to  her  often 
and  freely.    At  the  end  of  a  fortnight : 

*'  I  used  to  be  afraid  you  'd  never  say  anything 
at  all  to  me,"  he  owned. 

"  I  thought  you  were  n't  very  nice,"  she  said. 

"  Miss  McGuire  told  you  things  about  me?" 

"  She  told  me  as  soon  as  you  apologised  to  her, 
too.  I  was  pleased  you  did  that,  even  if  you 
were  n't  in  the  wrong." 

*'  Would  n't  you  ever  have  taken  any  notice  of 
me  if  I  hadn't?" 

"  I  did  notice  you,"  she  smiled. 

*'  Did  you?    But '  ever  spoken  to  me/  I  mean?  " 

**  I  don't  know.    We  should  n't  have  been  such 


I30  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

good  friends  as  we  are.  I  Ve  never  liked  any  boy 
as  I  like  you,  Con." 

He  ached  to  tell  her  how  infinitely  grateful  he 
felt,  but  he  could  not  find  a  word.  They  walked 
up  and  down  together.  Perhaps  she  understood. 
On  a  sudden  he  thought  how  cruel  it  was  that  the 
end  would  come  when  he  went  to  Paris,  or  when 
she  went  to  England.  In  that  moment  instinct 
taught  the  lad  as  remorselessly  as  experience 
teaches  man.  He  knew  their  friendship  was  the 
merest  incident  to  her,  and  the  hurtfulness  of  the 
knowledge  squeezed  his  throat. 

"  If  we  meet  again  one  day,  you  '11  give  me  a 
stiff  little  bow  and  pass  by,"  he  blurted. 

*'  Con  I  "  she  murmured.  "  Why,  I  Ve  become 
thummier  here  with  you  in  a  little  while  than  I 
am  with  people  I  've  known  at  home  for  years." 

Still  instinct  was  heavy  in  the  boy. 

He  always  spent  the  morning  out  of  doors  with 
his  brushes;  soon  he  found  himself  restless  during 
the  morning,  impatient  to  return  to  the  hotel. 
And  he  did  not  know  he  was  in  love  with  her.  It 
did  not  occur  to  him  as  possible  he  could  be  in 
love  with  her.    He  had  absolutely  no  suspicion. 


CONRAD   IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH  I3I 

It  was  Still  more  extraordinary  because  he  had 
so  often  thought  he  was  in  love,  and  gloried  in 
being  so ;  when  we  are  very  young,  half  the  pleas- 
ure of  being  miserable  about  a  girl  consists  of  excit- 
ing comment,  and  pretending  to  be  offended  by 
it.  Yet  no  idea  of  falling  in  love  with  Mrs.  Adaile 
had  crossed  his  mind.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she 
was  married.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he  was  for 
the  first  time  really  in  love. 

Through  most  of  the  stages  the  boy  went  with- 
out an  inkling  of  his  complaint.  One  day  his 
father  said  to  him,  "  You  've  caught  it  very  badly, 
Con,"  and  laughed  a  warning.  The  boy  was 
startled.  He  went  away  bewildered,  and  asked 
himself  if  it  was  true.  When  Mrs.  Adaile  sat 
with  him  on  the  terrace  that  night  he  was  self- 
conscious  and  husky.  For  once  her  presence  was 
scarcely  welcome.  It  rather  frightened  him, 
though  he  would  have  died  sooner  than  admit  the 
shameful  word  to  himself. 

Afterwards  he  did  not  know  how  it  came  to 
pass,  but  she  used  to  confide  to  him  that  her  hus- 
band was  n't  very  kind  to  her.  He  was  in  Lon- 
don, and  she  sighed  when  she  referred  to  going 


132  CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

home.  Her  sighs  were  very  plaintive,  and  her 
self-pity  was  sincere,  but  it  was  nothing  to  the 
pity  that  overwhelmed  the  boy. 

"  People  don't  guess  how  unhappy  I  am,"  she 
said  to  him  one  evening. 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  woman,"  he  muttered;  "  I  can 
never  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  for  you,  and  if  I 
were  a  woman  I  could  put  my  arms  round  you, 
and  you  'd  know." 

It  was  a  beautiful  thing  to  say,  but  he  said  It 
badly,  because  he  felt  it  too  much  to  make  it  effec- 
tive. No  woman  should  deride  a  boy's  love.  It 
is  ludicrous,  but  it  is  ludicrous  only  because  it  is 
so  genuine.  He  has  not  learnt  yet  to  trick  the 
truth  out.  He  does  not  know  yet  that  before  one 
could  make  converts  to  the  very  truths  of  God 
they  had  to  be  presented  with  art. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  when  you  '11  go?  "  she  in- 
quired. He  was  to  travel  with  a  friend,  who  was 
visiting  in  England. 

"  I  may  get  a  letter  any  day,"  he  answered. 

"  Are  you  in  a  hurry?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  thought  you  were?  " 


CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH  I33 

He  was  dumb. 

"  I  Ve  been  quite  loyal  to  you  —  I  have  n't  said 
a  word  of  what  I  think  to  your  people  when 
they  've  talked  of  you." 

"  I  knew  you  would  n't.  It  only  needs  a  word 
to  make  them  back  out." 

"  I  would  n't  let  you  go  If  /  were  your  mother. 
Supposing  I  did  spoil  it  all  for  you?  How  you  'd 
hate  me  I  " 

"  No,  I  should  n't,"  he  said. 

"  Why?  Have  you  changed  your  mind,  then 
—  don't  you  want  to  go  after  all  ?  " 

"  I  should  n't  hate  you,  because  I  could  n't  hate 
you  whatever  you  did,"  he  explained,  haltingly. 
"  Yes,  of  course  I  want  to  go,  but  —  but  I  don't 
want  to  go  yet." 

They  sat  down,  and  there  was  a  pause.  In  the 
pause,  his  consciousness  of  her  presence  grew 
queerly  acute,  almost  painful. 

"  What 's  the  scent  you  've  got  on?  "  he  asked, 
unsteadily. 

"  Chypre,"  she  said;  "  do  you  like  It?  " 

She  played  with  a  ring  she  wore,  and  showed 
It  to  him.    He  touched  the  ring  —  and  In  a  tumult 


134  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

of  the  spirit  was  holding  her  hand.  They  sat 
silent  again.  He  knew  that  he  ought  to  say  some- 
thing, that  she  was  waiting  for  him  to  say  some- 
thing, that  his  long  silence  was  ridiculous  —  and 
he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say.  He  was  at  once 
tremulous  with  joy  and  faint  with  fear  —  the  fear 
that  she  would  withdraw  her  hand  before  his 
effort  had  wrenched  out  words. 

She  withdrew  it.  He  gazed  before  him  blankly. 
When  he  was  a  man,  and  recalled  that  evening,  he 
wondered  whether  the  atmosphere  had  seemed  so 
much  a  part  of  his  emotions  at  the  time  as  it  did 
in  looking  back.  He  wondered  whether,  in  his 
heartthrobs  and  his  sickness,  he  had  been  acutely 
conscious  of  the  black  shrubs  in  the  moonlight,  of 
all  the  soft  sounds  and  odours  that  stole  up  on  the 
air.  He  thought  not.  Yet  long. after  her  feat- 
ures, which  he  tried  to  vitalise,  were  hazy  to  him, 
he  could  still  see  clearly  the  position  that  the  two 
chairs  had  occupied,  could  have  sketched  the  ter- 
race almost  with  the  accuracy  of  a  plan,  and  felt 
the  night  air  of  Rouen  in  his  throat. 

Presently  she  said: 

"  The  head-waiter  thinks  some  people  who  came 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH  1 35 

from  Italy  must  have  brought  the  mosquitoes  in 
their  luggage." 

"Oh?  "said  the  boy. 

"  I  believe  this  is  a  mosquito  bite  on  my  cheek," 
she  added.    "Look!" 

She  turned  her  cheek,  and  leant  forward.  He 
leant  forward  too.  Her  face  had  never  been  so 
close  to  him,  his  fingers  craved  its  softness  —  he 
only  realised  that,  with  courage,  he  might  touch  it 
with  a  finger.    And  the  courage  was  not  there. 

"  My  hand  is  cold,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  And 
afterwards,  too,  he  used  to  wonder  whether  he 
had  been  excusing  his  cowardice  to  himself,  or  to 
her. 

And  yet  it  was  with  no  abashment  that  he 
tramped  his  bedroom  later.  It  was  with  an  exalta- 
tion that  panted  for  vast  solitudes.  The  whirl  of 
the  unexpected  was  in  his  being.  The  marvel  of 
her  hand,  the  marvel  that  she  had  let  him  hold  her 
hand,  uplifted  him  beyond  belief.  And  through  all 
the  turbulence  of  his  pulses  and  his  mind  there  was 
not  a  carnal  thought,  not  an  Instant's  base  imagin- 
ing. He  adored  her  without  desire,  without  reflec- 
tion,  without  asking  what  he  adored. 


136  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

When  he  was  alone  with  her  once  more  during 
some  minutes  he  tried,  trembling,  to  examine  the 
ring  again. 

"  No,"  she  said  gently;  "  it 's  wrong." 

And  in  the  next  few  days  nothing  happened,  one 
day  was  like  another. 

Then  the  date  of  his  departure  was  settled.  He 
looked  for  her  as  soon  as  he  read  the  news,  sought 
her  dismayed  because  he  was  to  go,  and  twice  un- 
happy because  on  his  last  evening  she  would  be 
out.  She  was  shopping,  and  he  met  her  at  the 
corner  of  la  Rue  Thiers,  where  the  horlogerie  is. 

"I'm  going,"  he  said;  "and  my  chum  can't 
stay  here  I  " 

"Is  it  fixed?"  Her  eyes  were  startled.  He 
had  never  known  her  eyes  were  quite  so  blue. 

"  Yes,  he  's  travelling  at  night,  and  won't  break 
the  journey.    I  'm  to  be  at  the  station." 

At  six  in  the  morning  he  was  to  be  at  the  station 
—  the  next  morning  but  one.  The  train  reaches 
Rouen  at  an  earlier  hour  now,  but  the  service  was 
a  tidal  one  twenty  years  ago.  When  she  had 
scanned  the  letter  neither  of  them  spoke  for  —  it 
seemed  a  long  time  to  him.    They  had  crossed  the 


CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH  1 37 

road  into  the  Solferlno  Garden,  and  he  stood  be- 
side her  with  his  hands  thrust  in  his  jacket  pockets, 
staring  at  the  little  lake. 

"  So  we  shall  soon  be  saying  '  good-bye,'  "  she 
said  at  last. 

He  nodded  miserably.  "  To-morrow  evening 
about  nine  o'clock,"  he  said. 

"Why  so  early?"    . 

"  Have  you  forgotten  you  're  going  to  a  dance 
with  Miss  McGuire  to-morrow  night?  /  didn't 
forget;  I  thought  of  it  directly  I  saw  the  date. 
What  time  shall  you  begin  to  dress?  " 

"  You  don't  know  me  very  well.  Con,  after  all," 
she  murmured. 

His  heart  leapt;  he  pretended  not  to  under- 
stand what  she  meant. 

"  Don't  I?  "  he  asked;  "  why  not?  " 

"  How  could  you  think  I  'd  go  out  on  your  last 
night  here?  "  she  answered. 

"You  won't  go?  .  .  .  Oh,  Mrs.  Adaile !  " 

And  as  they  moved  away  under  the  horse- 
chestnut  blossom,  it  was  less  dreadful  to  him  that 
he  was  going  to  leave  her. 

Why  did  she  do  it  ?    It  could  not  have  been  to 


138  CONRAD  m   QUXST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

test  her  power  over  hiim;  it  could  not  have  been 
to  wound  him  wantonly.  Who  shall  say  why  she 
did  it  I  A  woman  is  often  unable  to  define  her 
motive  to  herself.  Two  men  came  into  the  hotel 
after  dinner  —  acquaintances  both  —  and  she  be- 
came engrossed  by  them,  and  sent  up  little  peals  of 
laughter,  and  seemed  to  like  their  admiration, 
which  was  presumptuously  barefaced.  He  sat 
tongue-tied  in  a  comer,  unwittingly  providing  equal 
entertainment  for  other  women  in  the  room. 
Though  she  knew  he  was  suffering,  she  threw  no 
glance  to  him.  And  that  evening  the  boy  entered 
on  another  stage—  the  stage  of  jealousy. 

The  fires  of  jealousy  are  always  horrible,  and 
there  is  none  they  ravage  more  fiercely  than  the 
lad  whose  torture  the  world  finds  comic.  There 
is  none,  because  no  man,  nor  woman,  nor  young 
girl  in  such  a  pass,  is  so  totally  defenceless  as  a 
lad;  to  none  other  than  a  lad,  when  his  love  is 
outraged,  does  nature  forbid  even  the  resource  of 
simulated  dignity.  His  torments  are  intensified 
by  the  knowledge  of  his  ineptitude.  Always  pres- 
ent is  the  thought  that  he  ought  to  adopt  an  atti- 
tude which  he  is  too  raw  to  discover,  and  he  is 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  1 39 

prostrated  In  perceiving  that  beside  his  glib  rival 
he  looks  ridiculous  and  a  lout. 

After  a  clock  had  struck  many  times,  "  She 
makes  herself  too  cheap,"  Mrs.  Van  Buren  said 
sotto  voce,  and  Madame  de  Lavardens  assented 
by  a  grimace.  The  boy  overheard,  and  got  up, 
and  wandered  away.  A  new  misery  tightened  his 
throat,  and  burned  behind  his  eyeballs.  She  had 
been  disdained!  his  world  rocked.  He  was  de- 
graded, vicariously  —  for  her  sake,  degraded  that 
his  Ideal  should  afford  these  people  the  opportun- 
ity to  disparage  her.  Resentment  beat  in  him; 
he  longed  to  vindicate,  to  lay  down  his  life  for  her 
—  and  knew  himself  a  cipher,  and  that  the  tem- 
pest in  his  soul  would  be  thought  absurd.  Dis- 
dained !  It  was  paramount,  bitterest.  The  humil- 
iation of  neglect  dwindled;  all  his  pain,  all  his 
consciousness  was  the  hurricane  of  humiliation 
that  he  felt  for  her. 

"  If  you  were  n't  so  young  I  should  think  you 
were  trying  to  Insult  me,  Conrad.  Please  don't 
speak  to  me  any  more,"  she  said  next  morning, 
when  he  had  made  tactless,  seventeen-year-old 
reproaches  to  her. 


140  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

Her  voice  and  gaze  were  cold,  as  if  he  were  a 
stranger.  She  rose  and  left  him.  The  grace  of 
the  slender  figure  had  no  mercy  in  it  as  he  watched. 
The  sun  was  streaming,  and  the  birds  chirped 
loud,  and  he  thought  his  heart  was  broken  as  he 
watched.  He  sat  looking  the  way  that  she  had 
gone  for  long  after  the  terrace  was  bare.  And 
heavy  hours  passed  emptily,  and  he  was  still  be- 
reft.   And  it  was  his  last  day  here. 

Half  of  it  was  lost  when  wretchedness  waylaid 
her  at  a  door.  "  I  'm  sorry,"  he  gulped.  She  bent 
her  head,  and  moved  by  him  without  speaking. 
In  the  group  about  the  tea-table  she  was  no  gentler. 
The  glare  of  sunshine  mellowed.  His  father 
claimed  him,  and  talked  with  unusual  earnestness 
of  ambition  and  of  life;  his  mother  wrapt  his  arm 
about  her  waist,  and  was  pathetic  and  confident 
by  turn.  In  the  chatter  of  the  salon  he  heard  that 
Mrs.  Adaile  was  going  to  the  dance.  From  her- 
self he  had  still  no  word  or  look.  The  flush  in  the 
sky  faded.  A  relentless  star  peered  forth.  And 
it  was  his  last  day  here. 

She  went.  Until  the  final  minutes  he  could  not 
feel  that  she  would  go,  could  not  believe  it  until 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  l+J 

he  saw  her  in  the  triumphant  cruelty  of  her  ball 
gown  with  the  lilies  at  her  dazzling  breast  —  saw 
her  giddily  with  the  long  gloves  and  the  fan  In  her 
hands. 

The  room  was  full  of  animation,  of  movement. 
The  boy  sat  mute,  his  gaze  fastened  on  her  face. 
The  fiacre  grated  to  the  curb.  Miss  McGuIre 
asked  her  if  she  was  ready.  "  Yes,  I  'm  ready." 
Colonel  Van  Buren  put  the  cape  about  her  shoul- 
ders. She  turned  carelessly,  her  hand  outstretched : 
"  Well,  I  '11  say  '  good-bye,'  Con ;  you  've  all  my 
good  wishes."  "  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Adaile,"  he  fal- 
tered. His  eyes  Implored  her,  but  her  touch  was 
fleeting.    The  fiacre  rattled  —  she  had  gone. 

And  upon  the  hotel  fell  a  profound  and  deathly 
silence.  He  heard  nothing.  Damp  he  was,  and 
blind. 

He  had  seen  her  for  the  last  time.  He  kept 
saying  it.  It  seemed  unreal  —  an  impossible  thing 
—  though  the  harrowing  of  it  was  so  actual.  His 
mind  would  n't  seize  it,  even  while  the  weight  of 
it  was  grinding  his  youth. 

For  the  last  time  I  Outside,  he  bit  hard  upon 
his  nether  lip,  to  check  its  silly  quivering.    A  myr- 


143  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

iad  stars  glittered  over  Rouen  now;  a  breeze  was 
blowing  across  the  river.  There  was  a  roll  of 
wheels  approaching.  Foolish  as  he  knew  the  hope 
to  be,  he  waited  strained  till  they  rolled  past.  At 
the  piano  Miss  Digby-Smith  was  playing  Ascher's 
"  Alice."  His  mother  joined  him,  and  sat  there 
with  him  —  and  scarcely  spoke.  She  took  his 
hand.    He  thought  she  did  n't  guess. 

"  It 's  late.  Con,"  she  said  at  last.  "  Hadn't 
you  better  go  to  bed?  " 

"  I  'm  not  tired,"  said  the  boy. 

"  You  '11  come  to  my  room  as  soon  as  you  're 
dressed  in  the  morning?  " 

"  You  won't  be  able  to  go  to  sleep  again." 

*'  I  want  you  to.  Your  father 's  going  to  the 
station  with  you,  do  you  know?  " 

"  Yes,  he  told  me  .  .  .  What  time  "  —  the  in- 
difference of  his  tone  I  —  "  what  time  do  you  think 
Miss  McGuire  and  —  er  —  Mrs.  Adaile  will  be 
back?" 

"  Not  for  hours  yet,"  she  said;  "  I  daresay  it 
will  be  three  or  four  o'clock."  She  looked  away 
from  him.    He  thought  she  did  n't  guess ! 

Presently  the  lights  were  turned  out.     People 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  I43 

said  "  good-night,"  and  bade  him  "  good-bye." 
But  for  very  shame  he  would  have  sat  alone  in 
the  salon  till  it  was  time  for  him  to  start  —  sat 
there  just  to  see  the  woman  pass  through  the 
haU. 

In  his  bed  he  listened  —  he  lay  in  the  darkness 
listening,  holding  his  breath.  He  wanted  to  hear 
her  come  home ;  to  hear  her  would  be  something. 
The  wind  was  rising,  and  alternately  it  tricked  and 
terrorised  him;  he  trembled  lest  a  gust  should 
drown  the  faint  stir  of  her  return.  It  was  a  long, 
long  while  that  he  had  listened.  Sleep  pressed 
upon  his  eyelids,  but  he  would  not  yield.  Once  it 
was  mastering  him,  and  he  twitched  to  wide  wake- 
fulness in  the  guilty  fear  that  he  had  missed 
her. 

The  blustering  wind,  and  the  clock  of  St.  Ouen 
made  the  only  sounds. 

He  saw  the  door  opening  with  the  dim  notion 
that  he  was  being  called  too  soon.  For  a  mere 
vague  moment,  which  seemed  dishonour  to  him  in 
the  next,  he  beheld  without  realising  her.  He 
raised  himself  slowly  on  his  elbows,  and  it  thrilled 
through  him  that  she  was  moving  to  his  side. 


144  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  I  Ve  come  to  say  '  good-bye '  to  you,  Con." 

"  Mrs.  Adalle  1  "  The  name  was  all  that  he 
could  whisper.    "  Oh,  Mrs.  Adalle !  " 

"  I  've  been  horrid  to  you.    Have  n't  I?  " 

"No,  no,"  he  said  strenuously,  "it  was  I;  I 
want  to  beg  your  pardon.  Forgive  me !  Oh,  you 
do  forgive  me,  don't  you?    It 's  been  awful." 

Her  hands  were  swift  and  live;  he  held  them 
fast.  The  ghostliness  of  daybreak  was  in  the 
room.  In  the  pallor  she  sat  at  the  edge  of  the 
bed,  the  ball  gown  wan,  and  the  faded  lilies  droop- 
ing at  her  breast.  Being  so  young,  he  was  shy 
that  his  hair  was  on  end  and  the  collar  of  his  night- 
shirt crumpled. 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  she  said;  "  I  Ve  been  sorry  all 
the  night." 

Her  penitence  started  his  tears,  and  blinking 
wouldn't  keep  them  back.  He  wanted  to  smear 
them  away,  but  he  did  n't  want  to  let  go  her  hands. 
He  turned  his  head.  He  was  ashamed  —  but  less 
ashamed  than  he  would  have  expected  —  that  she 
should  see  him  blub. 

"  Don't  I  "  she  said,  and  he  had  never  heard 
that  note  before.    "  You  '11  make  me  hate  myself." 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  I4S 

"  I  love  you,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  love  you." 

"Sh!  You  mustn't  say  that,  Con,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  I  love  you,  I  love  you,"  cried  the  boy. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  "  I  know  you  do." 

And,  wonderfully,  there  was  nothing  wonderful 
to  his  mind  that  he  had  owned  it  to  her.  At  the 
instant  there  was  nothing  but  perfect  peace. 

"  You  've  made  me  so  happy,"  he  breathed. 

Afterwards  that  sounded  to  her  a  little  funny, 
but  as  she  heard  him  say  it  she  thought  it  only 
strange  and  beautiful.  Something  tenderer  than 
liking,  something  graver  came  into  her  gaze  as  she 
looked  down  at  him. 

"  I  Ve  not  been  a  nice  woman  to  you,  Con,"  she 
said.    "  One  day  you  '11  think  so." 

"  I  shall  never  think  so,"  he  vowed,  "  never. 
I  deserved  you  should  punish  me." 

But  that  was  n't  what  she  had  meant.  "  You 
will  think  so."  She  nodded.  "  Only  you  won't 
mind  then,  because  you  '11  laugh  at  it  all." 

"  You  're  cruel,"  he  choked.  "  Because  I  'm 
not  a  man  you  think  I  can't  love  you  really.  No 
man  could  love  you  better  than  I  do.     If  I  could 


146  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

only  tell  you  what  I  feel  1  I  'd  die  for  you,  I  'd  do 
anything  for  you.  Oh,  Mrs.  Adaile,  I  shall  never 
see  you  any  more  —  for  God's  sake  let  me  kiss 
you  once  1  " 

Quick  as  her  compassion  was,  the  misgiving  of 
a  boy  was  quicker  —  in  the  dizzy  second  that  he 
saw  her  bending  to  him  he  wondered  how  he  ought 
to  hold  her.  Then  her  bosom  fell  upon  his  breath- 
lessness,  and  he  went  to  Heaven  against  her  lips. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said,  freeing  herself. 

"  Oh,  don't,"  he  begged,  "  not  yet." 

**  I  must;  I  ought  n't  to  have  come  up." 

"What  shall  I  do?"  he  groaned.  "Oh,  it's 
awful  to  be  leaving  you  I  " 

"  I  wish  I  had  n't  made  you  fond  of  me,"  she 
sighed. 

"  You  did  n't;  you  could  n't  help  It.  But  what 
shall  I  do?  My  life  's  no  good  to  me;  I  shall  be 
thinking  of  you,  and  longing  for  you  when  you  've 
forgotten  all  about  me." 

She  smoothed  the  ruffled  hair. 

"  Think  of  me  sometimes  when  you  've  got  over 
it,"  she  said;  "  think  of  me  when  you  're  going  to 
do  an)rthing  that  is  n't  worthy  of  you  now." 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH  I47 

"  I  shall  be  true  to  you  as  long  as  I  live,"  said 
the  boy,  understanding.     "  Mrs.  Adaile " 

It  was  odd  to  her  ear  that  he  called  her  that 
a  moment  after  she  had  been  in  his  arms. 
"What?  "she  asked. 

"  When  you  go  down  to  breakfast,  /  shall  be  In 
Paris." 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  Shall  you  read  the  papers  by  the  window  this 
morning?  " 

"  Do  you  want  me  to?  " 

"  Yes  —  I  should  be  able  to  know  where  you 
were." 

"  I  will  then." 

"  I  shall  be  imagining  you  all  the  time.  .  .  . 
What  shall  you  do  this  evening?  " 

"  Reproach  myself,"  she  said. 

"  No,  you  must  n't ;  what  for  ?  Will  you  think 
of  me?" 

"  Yes.  After  dinner  I  'II  go  on  the  terrace, 
Con,  and  I  '11  sit  there  alone,  wondering  what 
you  're  doing,  and  thinking  of  —  just  now.  And 
—  well,  perhaps  I  '11  say  a  little  prayer  for  you. 
I  must  go  now.    Say  '  good-bye  '  to  me." 


148  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"  I  can't,"  he  gasped,  "  I  can't." 

"  Con,  I  must." 

"Give  me  something,"  he  stammered;  "give 
me  something  you  've  got  on.'* 

She  broke  off  a  handful  of  the  flowers  they  had 
crushed,  and,  stooping,  took  his  strained  face  be- 
tween her  palms,  and  kissed  him  twice  —  once  on 
the  lips,  and,  by  impulse,  on  the  brow.  Then  she 
opened  the  door  cautiously.  She  smiled  back  at 
him,  and  stole  away  into  the  passage.  And  in  the 
loneliness  she  left  behind  her,  the  boy  lay  kissing 
her  lilies,  and  sobbing  with  his  great  despair. 


CHAPTER   X 

Across  twenty  years  a  man  made  an  obeisance  to 
a  woman  for  risking  what  she  had  risked  that  she 
might  comfort  a  boy's  pain.  Conrad  got  up  from 
the  club  chair  and  crossed  over  to  the  bookcase. 
He  pulled  out  the  Post  Office  Directory  —  and 
it  sprawled  open  on  the  top  shelf.  Would  he 
find  the  name  under  "A?"  .  .  .  "  Grice  Ewart 
Adaile,  M.P.,  62  Norfolk  Street,  Park  Lane." 
And  she  ?  Was  she  alive  ?  could  she  be  there,  so 
close  to  him  as  that? 

He  mourned  to  think  how  different  she  must 
be  to-day.  The  woman  had  changed,  and  the  boy 
had  changed,  and  though  he  didn't  know  it,  the 
town  had  changed  the  most.  The  ubiquitous  rush 
and  whir  of  electric  trams,  the  ceaseless  clangour 
of  their  bells  beating  through  the  brain,  had  turned 
peace  Into  a  pandemonium.  Rouen  had  acquired 
all  the  noise  of  New  York  without  any  of  Its 


I50  CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

gaiety.  Telegraph  wires  and  telephone  wires 
spanned  the  tops  of  the  churches,  and  a  mesh-work 
of  iron  ropes  obscured  the  sky. 

He  strolled  to  Norfolk  Street  the  next  after- 
noon. There  was  a  half  hope  in  his  mind  of  find- 
ing a  carriage  at  the  door  waiting  to  take  the  lady 
for  her  drive.  If  Mrs.  Adaile  came  out  —  Oh,  if 
Mrs.  Adaile  came  out  he  would  be  well  repaid;  it 
would  be  exciting  to  recognise  her,  although  she 
would  n't  recognise  him ! 

But  she  did  not  come  out.  The  door  was  shut 
fast,  and  no  familiar  face  happened  to  gaze  pen- 
sively over  the  window  boxes.  He  was  disap- 
pointed. In  the  evening  he  went  to  another 
theatre.  The  hero  of  the  comedy  was  supposed 
to  be  a  man  of  his  own  age,  and  talked  about  him- 
self as  if  he  were  a  centenarian.  He  said  he  was 
thirty-seven  and  had  "  lived  his  life,"  and  he  called 
the  heroine  "  Child."  His  hair  was  silvered  at  the 
temples,  and  he  depressed  Conrad  exceedingly. 

The  situation  of  Norfolk  Street  was  so  conven- 
ient, however,  that  Conrad  took  to  passing  through 
it  rather  often.  And  though  he  was  old  enough  to 
know  better,  he  certainly  looked  young  enough  to 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  I5I 

be  the  hero's  son.  One  day  he  found  the  windows 
of  No.  62  blank  behind  shutters.  So  the  family- 
had  left  town!  He  sauntered  on,  and  hesitated, 
and  went  back.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to  as- 
certain what  he  wanted  to  know.  He  rang  the 
bell,  and  asked  a  solemn  functionary  when  Mrs. 
Adaile  was  expected  home. 

"  I  can't  say,  sir,"  said  the  man;  "  Mrs.  Adaile 
is  on  the  Continent." 

**  Oh,"  said  Conrad,  with  a  heart-prank.  She 
did  live  I  He  vacillated  —  and  obeyed  a  sec- 
ond impulse;  "Can  you  give  me  Mrs.  Adaile's 
address?  " 

The  solemn  person  noted  the  pearl  in  the 
stranger's  tie,  the  silk  lining  of  the  coat  he  unbut- 
toned, and  the  direction  in  which  his  hand  was 
travelling.  Mrs.  Adaile  was  in  Ostend.  "  Thenk 
you,  sir."  He  named  the  hotel,  and  Conrad  pro- 
ceeded to  Piccadilly  enamoured  of  temptation. 
How  tired  he  was  of  London  1  In  any  case  he 
would  go  away;  why  should  n't  he  go  to  Ostend? 
He  had  never  been  there  —  and  he  might  sit  next 
to  her  at  dinner.  It  would  be  an  absurdity  of 
course,  but 


153  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

The  hero  of  thirty-seven  with  hair  silvered  at 
the  temples,  admonished  him  from  every  hoard- 
ing and  he  took  a  hansom  to  avoid  his  sedate 
contemporary's  reproof.  Entering  the  club,  he 
walked  through  an  avenue  of  decorators'  ladders; 
the  smoking-room  was  full  of  paint  and  pails. 
What  could  be  more  absurd  than  to  remain  in 
town? 

He  winced  as  it  occurred  to  him  that  Adaile 
might  have  been  married  twice.  Supposing  the 
"  Mrs.  Adaile  "  in  Ostend  proved  to  be  a  stranger, 
an  unfamiliar  person  profaning  a  hallowed  name? 
How  complete  a  fool  he  would  feel  when  he  ar- 
rived I  But  he  would  not  dwell  on  that  contin- 
gency. "  Far  fetched,"  he  said.  Even  a  fate  that 
showered  disappointments  as  freely  as  if  they  were 
confetti  must  draw  the  line  somewhere. 

He  was  among  the  tourists,  and  the  luggage- 
thieves  at  Charing  Cross  by  ten  o'clock  next  morn- 
ing. When  he  reached  Ostend  it  was  a  fine  after- 
noon, and  the  town  was  baking.  By  comparison 
London  had  been  pleasant,  so  a  multitude  of  Lon- 
doners had  flocked  to  Ostend.  With  trepidation 
he  beheld  the  hotel  that  sheltered  her  —  what  if 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH  1 53 

he  were  unable  to  obtain  a  room  In  it?  But  no  — 
so  far,  so  good.  Fate  was,  perhaps,  napping  in 
the  heat  —  a  room  was  to  be  had.  He  washed  his 
face  in  No.  17  victoriously,  and  overlooked  the 
scarlet  geraniums,  and  the  Faience  fountain,  glis- 
tening in  a  grass  plot,  and  the  red-striped  sun- 
umbrellas  that  sprouted  through  the  little  tables. 
Nobody  was  visible  among  the  basket  chairs.  A 
starling's  twittering  in  a  lilac  bush,  was  the  only 
voice.  The  number  of  his  room  chimed  with 
his  mood  —  a  happy  coincidence.  To  the  man- 
ager's mind,  at  least,  he  wa»  "  seventeen  "  again. 
Again  he  stood  in  an  hotel  bedroom  preparing 
to  join  her  downstairs  1  Had  she  changed  very 
much  ? 

Presently  he  wandered  into  the  salon,  and 
lounged  round  the  reading-room.  Everywhere  It 
was  unpromisingly  quiet.  A  hint  of  siesta  per- 
vaded the  hotel.  Should  he  go  out?  He  saun- 
tered through  the  hall,  but  the  dazzle  of  the  Plage 
blistering  in  the  glare  made  his  eyes  ache.  He 
went  back  to  the  shade,  and  ruffled  newspapers, 
and  smoked  cigarette*.  A  child  came  into  the 
scorching  courtyard  that  was  called  a  "  garden," 


154  CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH 

and  hopped  round  on  one  leg,  and  said  to  another 
child,  "  Can  you  do  that?  "  The  starling  twittered 
imperturbably.    Who  said  Ostend  was  gay? 

Benighted  male  1  the  women  were  n't  asleep, 
they  were  all  changing  their  frocks  again.  When 
he  woke  he  had  missed  one  of  the  sights  of  the 
day  —  the  "  creations  "  that  vie  with  another  be- 
tween five  o'clock  and  seven.  A  gong  was  boom- 
ing. Only  the  first  gong.  Good  I  There  was  time 
for  him  to  dress  before  the  room  began  to  fill.  He 
sought  the  head-waiter,  and  inquired  if  a  place 
facing  the  door  could  be  arranged.  The  head- 
waiter  had  house  property,  and  two  sons  at  col- 
lege, but  he  was  the  urbanest  of  head-waiters.  A 
novice  tips  the  servants  when  he  leaves  an  hotel, 
and,  if  he  is  a  generous  novice,  pays  for  attention 
which  he  hasn't  received;  a  traveller  of  experi- 
ence tips  them  when  he  arrives,  and  gets  the  liver 
wing  and  a  seat  by  the  window. 

The  second  gong  was  still  reverberating  when 
No.  17  descended  to  dinner.  The  urbanest  of 
head-waiters  hovered  on  the  threshold.  For  scru- 
tinising the  company  Conrad  had  scarcely  time  to 
glance  at  the  menu.    The  doorway  was  as  daz- 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH  1 55 

zling  as  the  Plage  had  been :  a  cinematograph  of 
toilettes,  a  succession  of  audacities  —  only  clusters 
of  diamonds  seemed  to  keep  some  of  the  bodices 
up.  Man  formed  a  shifting  background  to  an 
exhibition  of  jewels,  a  pageant  of  skirts  and 
breasts.  Still  more  gowns.  The  humming  room 
was  the  apotheosis  of  Clothes  —  until  the  women 
sat  down,  and  then  it  was  the  apotheosis  of  Bosom. 

She  came  in  late.  She  wore  white  satin,  em- 
broidered in  silver,  and  a  "  collar  "  of  emeralds. 
He  recognised  her  at  once.  There  was  no  hesita- 
tion in  his  mind — he  had  expected  to  hesitate  — 
he  knew  her  the  instant  she  appeared.  She  had 
altered  certainly  —  even  pathetically;  the  girl  of 
twenty  years  ago  was  lost;  but  in  the  flash  of  the 
moment  the  difference  in  her  face  startled  him  less 
than  the  difference  in  her  figure.  A  shade  too 
stout.  Yes,  a  shade  too  stout  for  his  taste  1  And 
—  and  had  her  hair  been  copper  colour  in  Rouen? 

But  a  pretty  woman,  nobody  could  deny  it.  She 
did  n't  look  a  day  more  than  thirty-five  —  might 
pass  for  thirty  now  the  rose  glow  of  the  lamps  was 
on  her  I  .  .  .  Well  —  almost  1 

Her  table  was  well  in  view.    She  was  with  an- 


156  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

Other  woman  —  perhaps  younger,  a  brunette,  vi- 
vacious —  and  an  elderly  man  with  projecting 
teeth,  and  eyes  like  a  fish.  Adaile?  How  gro- 
tesque he  must  have  looked  making  love  I  He  had 
a  nose  as  long  as  the  one  in  Blake's  portrait  of 
the  man  who  built  the  Pyramids.  And  he  used  to 
be  unkind  to  her  1  —  one  could  read  that  he  was 
a  cold-blooded,  unappreciative  stick.  .  .  .  Now 
he  was  talking  to  her.  On  second  thoughts,  per- 
haps he  wasn't  her  husband  —  he  displayed  the 
projecting  teeth  to  her  in  so  many  smiles.  The 
other  woman's  husband  then !  Quite  a  good  chap 
in  his  way,  no  doubt.  He  was  doing  them  very 
well  in  the  matter  of  wine. 

Would  there  be  a  chance  to  speak  to  her  to- 
night? Abominably  hard  lines  if  he  had  to  wait 
till  to-morrow,  but  he  wanted  to  find  her  alone  -" 
in  the  garden,  for  preference,  in  the  moonlight. 
.  .  .  No  —  no  —  thirty-five ;  but  no  more,  not 
an  hour.  How  beautiful  she  used  to  be!  She 
did  n't  know  she  was  sitting  in  the  room  with  a 
man  she  had  kissed.  Rather  an  amusing  reflection 
that  I  .  .  .  Scores  of  men  in  the  room,  though; 
perhaps  she  did.     How  sick  he  would  have  felt 


*  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  I57 

to  think  so  once!    Where  was  the  splendid  jeal- 
ousy he  ought  to  feel  this  evening? 

"  '  Dead  as  the  bulrushes  round  little  Moses 
On  the  old  banks  of  the  Nile! '  " 

He  made  his  coffee  last  till  the  party  got  up, 
and  then  followed  them  to  the  salon.  The  salon 
did  not  keep  them  —  they  drifted  to  the  hall. 
They  disappeared.  The  hall  was  a  bevy  of  women 
who  had  been  upstairs  to  put  on  hats,  and  were 
desiring  to  be  taken  to  the  Kursaal.  "  Poppa  " 
was  in  constant  demand.  Conrad  observed  that 
all  the  family  men  seemed  inclined  to  loll  where 
they  were,  and  that  all  the  unaccompanied  men 
made  sprightly  departures.  In  the  concert-room 
he  found  her  again,  but  he  did  n't  find  his  oppor- 
tunity. To  be  sure,  he  had  hardly  expected  one 
there.  Still  he  felt  rather  hipped  the  last  thing 
at  night  as  he  sat  among  a  crowd,  and  the  popping 
of  champagne  corks,  in  a  buffet  where  the  casks 
were  utilised  as  seats,  and  the  ladies'  toilettes  were 
as  gorgeous  —  and  as  modest  —  as  the  ladies'  toi- 
lettes in  the  hotel. 

In  the  morning  he  met  her  coming  back  from  the 


158  CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

sands  with  an  enormous  sunshade,  in  the  "  early 
bath"  costume;  and  he  met  her  later  wearing  a 
picture  hat  in  the  "  after  bath  "  costume:  also  he 
saw  her  in  the  costume  she  put  on  when  dejeuner 
was  over —  and  still  she  was  unapproachable.  If 
she  proved  too  elusive,  he  'd  be  tempted  to  swim 
after  her  next  day  and  try  his  luck  in  the  water. 
But  could  he  be  sentimental  with  his  hair  dripping? 
And  even  in  Ostend  it  would  n't  be  —  Oh,  in  the 
wrong  key  altogether! 

She  was  scribbling  on  a  picture  postcard  at  one 
of  the  little  writing  tables,  and  there  was  nobody 
else  there. 

"  May  I  remind  Mrs.  Adaile  that  I  have  had 
the  happiness  of  being  presented  to  her?  " 

She  turned  her  head,  and  there  was  approval 
in  the  lady's  gaze.  There  was,  however,  not  a 
scintilla  of  recognition  in  it. 

"  My  name  is  Warrener,"  he  said. 

"Oh  yes,"  she  murmured;  "I'm  so  short- 
sighted  how  d'ye  do?"     But  he  saw  that 

she  was  twenty  years  away  from  knowing  who  he 
was. 

"This  is  tremendously  nice  of  you,"  he  ex- 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  1 59 

claimed;  "  I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  remember 
me. 

"  How  absurd !  "  she  said  perfunctorily.  "  Why 
should  n't  I  ?    We  met  at ?  " 

"  But  so  long  ago.  I  was  afraid,  really.  I  've 
been  warning  myself  that  you  could  n't  be  expected 
to  remember  —  and  yet  I  knew  I  should  be  so 
pained  if  you  forgot." 

She  made  a  little  amiable  movement  of  her 
hands.  He  understood  it  to  signify  that  his  doubts 
had  done  injustice  to  them  both.  Inwardly  he 
laughed. 

"Is  your  husband  in  Ostend,  Mrs.  Adaile?" 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  no,  he  's  in  the  Tyrol  — 
Innsbruck.  I  'm  here  with  my  sister  and  my 
brother-in-law.     You  know  them,  don't  you?" 

"  No,  I  've  never  had  the  pleasure.  They 
were  n't  with  you  there." 

"  Ah,  no,"  she  said,  "  no,  they  were  n't.  .  .  . 
Ostend  is  very  dull  this  year,  don't  you  think?  " 

"  I  've  found  it  very  exciting;  I  saw  you  yester- 
day at  dinner,  and  I  've  been  trying  to  meet  your 
eyes  ever  since." 

"  Really?  "  said  the  lady.    She  allowed  him  to 


l6o  CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS   YOUTH 

meet  them,  and  looked  away,  her  expression  vacil- 
lating between  a  pucker  and  a  smile. 

"  My  courage  was  n't  equal  to  risking  a  snub 
from  you  publicly,  and  you  were  never  alone. 
.You  balked  me  last  night,  you  escaped  me  this 
morning,  and  you  drove  me  to  desperation  this 
afternoon.  I  ought  to  have  known  you  would  n't 
forget,  but  I  always  had  misgivings,  had  n't  I?  " 

"  Had  you  ?  "  she  said.  The  pucker  was  getting 
the  upper  hand.    She  played  with  the  postcard. 

"  Confess!  "  said  Conrad. 

"  I  remember  you  perfectly,"  she  insisted  with 
transparent  hypocrisy,  "  but  just  for  the  moment 
I  'm  fogged  where  it  was  we  met." 

"  Will  it  help  me  if  I  mention  Normandy?  " 

"  Normandy?  "  she  echoed  vaguely. 

"  Rouen  —  the  Hotel  Britannique  —  a  boy  who 
was  called  '  Con.'  " 

"  Con?  "  she  cried.  And  the  smile  had  things 
all  its  own  way  with  her ;  for  an  instant  the  spirit 
of  his  youth  flashed  so  close  that  he  nearly  cap- 
tured it.    "You  are  'Con?'" 

"  Still,"  he  affirmed  earnestly.  "  And  you  are 
8tiU  — Mrs.  AdaUe." 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  l6l 

"  You  are  Con,"  she  repeated,  wondering,  "  that 
boy !  And  did  you  remember  me  directly  you  saw 
me  last  night?  " 

"  No  —  I  Ve  remembered  you  all  the  time." 

*'  Ah,"  she  laughed  reproval,  "  what  a  long 
while  ago  that  makes  it  seem !  —  the  boy  never 
told  me  pretty  falsehoods." 

"The  boy  never  told  you  half  the  truth;  he 
was  a  very  backward  boy." 

"  If  we  are  to  be  friends  you  must  n't  run 
him  down,  Mr.  Warrener,"  she  said;  "  I  was 
very  fond  of  Con.  .  .  .  '  Rouen  I '  Have  you 
ever  been  there  since?  " 

"  No;  I  was  abroad  for  years  —  out  of  Europe, 
I  mean." 

"You  were  going  to  be  an  artist?" 

"  I  hoped  to  be." 

"Aren't  you?" 

"  No ;  I  have  n't  the  artist's  temperament  — 
I  'm  too  constant." 

She  regarded  the  postcard  on  the  table  again, 
and  he  did  justice  to  her  eyelashes. 

"  Ostend  is  going  down  dreadfully,  isn't  it?" 
she  remarked.     "  All  the  ridiculous  people  who 


l62  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

have  just  got  titles  have  brought  them  here. 
We  're  leaving  on  Thursday." 

He  sighed. 

"  Don't  be  foolish,"  she  said,  not  too  flippantly. 

"  Ah,"  said  Conrad  now,  "  what  a  long  while 
ago  that  makes  it  seem !  —  the  boy  was  not  told  he 
was  foolish." 

"  No  one  could  be  so  unkind  to  him  —  and  he 
was  n't." 

"  You  '11  make  me  jealous  of  that  boy  before 
you  've  done.    Don't  you  believe  you  could?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  declared. 

"  You  used  to  take  him  seriously." 

"  Oh  yes,  we  were  capital  friends." 

"  Did  he  deserve  your  friendship  more  than  I?  " 

"  You  're  absurd,"  she  smiled.  Her  eyes  were 
as  blue  as  they  had  been  in  the  Solferino  Garden. 
He  looked  into  them,  wishing  he  could  feel  the 
despair  that  had  been  his  that  radiant  morning. 

"  Is  a  wretched  boy  you  only  knew  for  a  few 
weeks  to  be  privileged  above  a  man  who  has 
thought  of  you  for  years?"  Within  an  ace  he 
had  said  "  for  twenty  years,"  but  the  blunder  was 
nipped  in  time. 


CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH  1 63 

"  You  mean  '  hours,'  "  she  said.  "  We  dined 
last  night  at  eight  o'clock  —  it's  just  four 
now." 

"  You  don't  believe  me  —  you  think  I  'm  mak- 
ing the  most  of  a  happy  accident?  What  if  I 
gave  you  a  conclusive,  an  overwhelming  proof?  " 

"A  proof  of  what?  " 

"  Of  what?  That  I  am  constancy  itself!  Sup- 
posing I  told  you  that  my  only  reason  for  coming 
here  was  to  see  you  again.  What  would  you  say 
to  that?" 

"  I  hope  I  should  answer  quite  politely,"  she 
murmured. 

"  Ah,  you  did  n't  doubt  me  once  I  "  he  exclaimed 
with  grave  reproach. 

"  You  did  n't  tell  such  tarra-diddles  once,"  she 
urged. 

"  I  came  here  simply  and  solely  to  see  you. 
Look  at  me.  Will  you  give  me  your  hand?  — 
I  want  to  repeat  it  solemnly."  She  glanced  at  the 
door,  and  yielded  him  her  hand.  It  was  very 
soft  and  agreeable  to  hold;  he  continued  with  no 
undue  haste:  "  Now,  holding  your  hand,  and  with 
my  eyes  meeting  yours,  I  say  that  I  came  here  to 


164  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

see  you  —  for  no  one,  and  nothing  else  —  that 
I  had  no  idea  of  coming  to  the  place  till  I  knew 
you  were  here.  That  isn't  all!  "  he  detained  her 
hand  gently.  "  For  an  age  I  have  been  trying  to 
see  you.  I  knew  none  of  your  friends  —  it  was 
awfully  difficult  for  me.  Could  I  call  upon  you 
and  begin  'Once  upon  a  time?'  Should  I  write 
to  you?  You  might  read  my  note  in  the  wrong 
mood.  Oh,  I  tell  you  I  racked  my  brains  I  That 
is  n't  all !  "  —  her  hand  had  been  retreating  again. 
"  The  day  before  yesterday  as  I  passed  your  house 
—  No.  62 ;  you  have  window  boxes,  the  flowers 
are  calceolarias  and  marguerites  this  season  —  the 
day  before  yesterday  as  I  passed,  I  saw  the  shut- 
ters were  closed.  I  rang  the  bell.  I  deceived 
your  servant,  I  led  him  to  imagine  you  —  you 
would  be  glad  to  welcome  me.  I  wormed  your 
address  from  him  and  threw  myself  onto  the  boat 
rejoicing.    That  is  n't  all " 

She  drew  the  hand  free,  nevertheless,  and  real- 
ising that  it  was  n't  coming  back  to  him  yet,  he 
concluded,  "  But  it  is  enough  to  show  you  that 
you  Ve  been  cruel." 

At  this  moment  they  were  interrupted,  and  she 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  1 65 

said,  "  Oh,  let  me  —  Mr.  Warrcner,  my  lister, 
Lady  Bletchworth." 

"  How  d'  ye  do,"  said  Lady  Bletchworth.  "  Os- 
tend  is  very  dull  this  year,  don't  you  think?  " 

"  I  've  just  said  that,"  Mrs.  Adaile  told  her. 

"  It  does  n't  matter,"  said  Lady  Bletchworth. 
"  It 's  a  very  good  opening  remark,  and  I  make  it 
to  everybody." 

"  Won't  you  put  me  up  to  the  correct  answer?  " 
asked  Conrad;  "  I  've  only  just  come,  and  I  should 
like  to  catch  the  tone." 

"  Most  of  them  say,  *  Oh,  my  dear! '  "  she  re- 
plied; "but  our  latest  novelty  is,  *5oM/^endI 
What?'" 

"  Mr.  Warrener's  people  and  I  used  to  be  very 
chummy  ages  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Adaile.  "  I  am 
afraid  to  inquire,  Mr.  Warrener?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  —  I  am  alone." 

"  He  was  quite  nice  in  those  days,"  she  added 
to  her  sister. 

"  What  has  spoilt  you,  Mr.  Warrcner?  " 

"  I  find  my  world  so  sceptical.  Lady  Bletch- 
worth." 

"  Not  here,"  she  said;  "  they  can  even  believe 


1 66  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH 

Ostend  is  smart.  Can  you  do  a  sum?  If  *  it 
takes  three  generations  to  make  a  gentleman,'  how 
many  shops  does  it  take  to   make  a  knight?  " 

"  One :  England,"  said  Conrad. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  's  spoilt  after  all,  Joan," 
said  Lady  Bletchworth.  "  There  's  hope  for  him 
yet." 

"  It 's  much  too  early  to  say  that,^^  murmured 
Mrs.  Adaile,  But  the  glance  she  cast  at  him  was 
not  discouraging. 


CHAPTER   XI 

The  rest  of  the  afternoon  promised  nothing,  so 
Conrad  bought  "  Le  Marquis  de  Priola  "  to  kill 
time.  It  passed  away  so  peacefully  that  he  was 
surprised  when  he  found  it  was  dead. 

After  dinner  he  saw  the  two  women  on  a 
lounge,  and  they  moved  their  skirts  for  him,  and 
commented  on  the  visitors.  There  was  the  Earl 
of  Armoury,  wearing  a  stud  as  big  as  a  brooch,  and 
a  Malmaison  the  size  of  a  saucer.  He  made 
grimaces  like  Arthur  Roberts,  and  when  he  sang 
"  Pip,  pip !  the  Lodger  and  the  Twins,"  Society 
found  him  as  funny  as  Harry  Randall.  As  every- 
body knows,  the  Duke  of  Merstham  married 
Flossie  Coburg  from  the  music  halls ;  the  heir  had 
Inherited  his  mother's  gift.  "  The  best  of  it," 
said  Lady  Bletchworth,  "  Is  that  his  mother  her- 
self has  become  too  prim  for  words  since  she  has 
been  respectable.  She  Asks  bishops  to  dinner,  and 
does  her  hair  In  plain  bands.     Heredity  Is  her 


1 68  CONRAD   IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

cross  I  Oh,"  she  went  on,  "you'll  meet  all  the 
world  and  his  wife  —  Ostend-sibly.  A  man 
brought  his  wife  to  the  hotel  last  week,  and  when 
he  went  upstairs  to  bed  she  was  n't  there.  After 
he  had  searched  high  and  low  for  her  he  went 
to  the  bureau,  and  asked  the  clerk  if  he  could  tell 
him  where  she  was.  The  clerk  hadn't  an  idea, 
but  said  that  a  married  lady  came  to  him  a  little 
while  ago  in  a  fix  —  she  did  n't  know  the  number 
of  her  room,  and  she  had  forgotten  the  name  of 
her  husband.  Please  don't  smile,  I  was  terribly 
shocked  myself." 

Conrad  did  n't  say  that  the  story  was  not  orig- 
inal, and  had  been  told  about  town  six  months 
before. 

Then  Lord  Bletchworth  drifted  to  them,  and 
was  tedious.  Lord  Bletchworth  twaddled  pon- 
derously. He  considered  there  was  a  lot  of  dis- 
graceful bosh  being  printed  about  the  Service,  and 
the  Country  at  large,  in  the  papers  just  now.  My 
dear  sir,  an  Englishman  who  had  the  Interests 
of  England  at  heart  would  hold  his  tongue  while 
she  slid  down  hill,  and  silently  watch  her  bump  to 
th«  bottom.    That  was  n't  how  he  put  It,  but  it 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  1 69 

was  the  gist  of  what  he  said.  He  added  that  the 
battle  of  Waterloo  had  been  won  on  the  playing 
fields  of  Eton,  and  he  seemed  as  satisfied  with 
Waterloo  as  if  it  were  situated  in  the  Transvaal. 

However,  he  had  his  uses  —  he  walked  with  his 
wife  when  they  went  to  the  Kursaal,  and  left 
Conrad  with  Mrs.  Adaile. 

"  How  quiet  you  've  become,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  asking  myself  what  to  say  to  you." 

"  Do  you  find  me  so  hard  to  talk  to?  " 

"  I  find  you  so  hard  to  convince." 

"Why  try  to  convince  me?" 

"  Why  did  I  come  to  Ostend?  " 

"  Oh,  that  was  a  pretty  tale,"  she  said.  "  It 
wasn't  true,  really,  was  it?" 

"  You  know  it  was  true.  I  've  looked  forward 
to  meeting  you  again  for  years.  I  can't  tell  you 
how  fond  I  was  of  you.  You  're  the  only  woman 
I  've  ever  cared  for." 

"  You  were  a  child." 

"And  now  I 'm  a  man— -doesn't  that  show, 
doesn't  it  prove?  Is  it  nothing  to  think  of  a 
woman  so  long  as  I  've  thought  of  you  ?  What 
other  man  could  say  to  you  what  /  can  say?  " 


170  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  But  you  must  n't  say  it,"  she  smiled  —  it  can- 
not be  written  that  she  "  forbade." 

"  Is  your  life  so  full,"  he  asked,  "  that  you  have 
no  room  for  my  love?  " 

"  Mr.  Warrener,  but  really " 

"  You  hurt  me,"  he  said.  "  What  have  I  done 
since  we  parted,  to  become  '  Mr.  Warrener '  to 
you?" 

"  Are  we  going  to  sit  on  the  terrace,"  said 
Lord  Bletchworth,  looking  back,  "  or  are  we  going 
inside?     Mr.  Warrener,  you  play,  perhaps?" 

"  No,"  said  Conrad,  "  I  have  n't  played  here. 
I  don't  care  much  about  it  anyhow." 

"  Let 's  sit  down  outside,"  said  Lady  Bletch- 
worth.    "  It 's  so  hot  in  there." 

On  the  terrace  it  was  very  agreeable.  The 
orchestra  did  not  sound  too  insistent,  and  they 
found  chairs  where  they  could  watch  the  people 
promenade  without  being  inconvenienced  by  them. 
Extremes  meet,  and  Ostend  is  their  meeting-place. 
Only  a  light  railing  divides  the  fashionable  world, 
and  the  half  world  from  the  world  that  works.  On 
one  side  plod  a  humble  flock  of  wearied  trippers, 
who  have  had  tea  "  As  nice  as  mother  makes  it," 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH  I71 

in  a  sweltering  shop  at  the  back  of  the  town. 
Among  the  shell  pin-cushions,  the  franc  souvenirs, 
they  have  had  tea.  All  the  evening  they  pass  and 
repass  with  flagging  feet,  wishing  they  had  chosen 
Margate.  On  the  other  side,  women  who  were 
born  in  the  same  class  trail  Paquin's  gowns.  On 
the  necks  of  some  there  are  flowers  that  have  cost 
as  much  as  a  tripper's  holiday;  a  diamond  in  an 
ear  is  worth  more  than  the  price  of  a  tripper's 
home.  And  Maggie  from  Dalston,  with  three 
tired  children  clinging  to  her  ten-and-sixpenny 
skirt,  gazes  across  that  slender  rail,  and  thinks. 
And  her  thoughts  might  be  unpleasant  to  hear. 

A  really  extraordinary  thing  was  that  no  one 
but  Conrad  seemed  aware  that  the  railing  bisected 
two  worlds  and  a  half.  As  for  Conrad  his  reflec- 
tions engrossed  him  so  much  that  he  quite  forgot 
to  attend  to  Mrs.  Adaile.  Only  when  he  chanced 
to  notice  she  was  looking  pensive  in  the  starlight 
did  it  occur  to  him  that  he  was  ignoring  a  situation 
by  which  he  ought  to  be  thrilled. 

For  here  they  were.  The  stars  were  twinkling, 
the  waves  were  murmuring,  the  lady  was  waiting. 
It  was  true  her  sister  and  Bletchworth  were  in 


17a  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

the  way,  but  even  allowing  for  their  presence  thi» 
should  mean  emotion.  Where  was  it?  On  the 
terrace  while  he  made  small  talk,  and  on  the 
Plage  when  they  strolled  back,  and  as  he  smoked 
his  last  cigar  that  night  in  the  garden,  the  question 
in  Conrad's  mind  was  insistently  "  Where  is  the 
emotion?  " 

Because  she  was  still  an  attractive  woman,  and 
he  perceived  it.  He  was  even  making  love  to  her 
•—  to  her,  to  Mrs.  Adaile !  —  and  she  was  not 
adamant.  What  had  happened  to  him?  Where 
were  his  transports,  the  spiritual  whirlwinds, 
where  was  everything  that  he  had  travelled  to 
recover? 

She  had  a  whim  to  do  fancy  work  in  the  salon 
next  day  during  the  hour  when  the  women  changed 
their  dejeuner  dresses  for  the  five-o'clock-to-seven 
costumes.  He  had  met  her  as  she  was  passing 
his  door  —  their  rooms  were  in  the  same  passage 
—  and  they  had  gone  downstairs  together. 

"  You  Ve  told  me  nothing  of  your  life  since 
we  used  to  know  each  other,"  he  said,  playing 
with  a  thimble. 

"  What  would  you  like  me  to  tell  you?  " 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST 'OF   HIS  YOUTH  1 73 

"  You  used  to  tell  me  a  good  deal  —  if  I  am 
privileged  to  remember  it." 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  did.  How  I  must  have  bored 
you  I  It  was  rather  a  shame.  But  I  was  in  my 
egotistical  stage,  and  you  listened  with  such  big 
eyes  —  Con." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Conrad.  "  But  I  was  n't 
bored.  And  you  were  n't  an  egotist  —  you  were 
the  sweetest  woman  I  've  ever  met.  I  was  aw- 
fully sorry  for  you  —  so  sorry  I  Only  a  cub's  sym- 
pathy, but  you  've  had  none  truer  from  anyone." 

"  You  were  a  nice  boy  —  I  've  thought  about 
you  sometimes.  Are  the  scissors  there?  Do 
look." 

**  If  a  woman  knows  when  she  is  really  loved, 
you  should  have  thought  about  me  very  often," 
he  answered,  giving  them  to  her.  "  Are  you  hap- 
pier than  you  were?  " 

"  Let  us  say  I  don't  worry  so  much  about  being 
unhappy.  I  suppose  it  amounts  to  the  same  thing." 
She  sighed  —  and  smiled.  "  Would  you  do  this 
leaf  green,  or  yellow?  " 

"  I  should  n't  do  it  at  all,"  he  said.  "  Put  it 
down  and  talk  to  me.    I  remember  once  when  you 


174  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

were  telling  me  your  troubles,  you  cried.  It  was 
one  afternoon  on  the  terrace;  you  had  on  a  pale 
blue  frock,  and  a  big  floppy  hat.  I  'd  have  given 
my  life  to  kiss  you  at  that  moment." 

"  You  must  n't  say  these  things  to  me,"  she 
faltered.  She  said  it  more  gravely  than  on  the 
Plage;  she  was  not  smiling  now,  and  she  lowered 
her  eyes  —  he  knew  that  he  might  seize  her  hands. 

"  I  've  waited  for  you  so  long,"  he  exclaimed. 
**  Joan,  be  kind  to  me !  " 

But  his  heart  did  not  thud  in  her  silence.  He 
held  her  hands  fast;  the  doyley  she  was  making 
had  fallen  to  the  couch. 

At  last  she  murmured,  still  looking  down, 
"  How  can  you  care  for  me  ?  We  've  only  just 
met." 

"  I  've  cared  for  you  ever  since.  If  you  knew 
how  I  worshipped  you  —  if  you  knew  what  I  suf- 
fered when  you  were  vexed  with  me  1  That  night 
you  sat  talking  to  those  men,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing when  you  were  offended  —  I  remember  what 
I  felt  as  if  it  were  a  month  ago.  I  remember 
what  you  said  as  you  turned  away,  and  how  I  sat 
watching,  praying  that  you  'd  come  back.     And 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH  175 

then  I  waited  at  the  door,  and  begged  your  par- 
don, and  you  would  n't  forgive  me.  I  Ve  relived 
it  all  so  often.  I  did  love  you,  darling,  I  did, 
I  did  I  .  .  .  It  sounds  idiotic:  there  was  a  song  of 
yours,  '  To-day,  to-day  our  dream  is  over  —  To- 
day the  waking  cold  and  grey  ' ;  I  learnt  to  strum 
the  refrain  there  to  —  to  make  me  feel  nearer  to 
you  when  I  had  gone.  Since  I  Ve  been  a  man  I  Ve 
strummed  that  refrain  a  hundred  times,  and  longed 
for  you  —  I  was  strumming  it  years  after  you  had 
forgotten  you  ever  sang  it.  I  Ve  thought  about 
you  sometimes  till  my  boyhood  has  been  alive  in 
me,  trembling.  If  Faust's  chance  could  have  come 
to  me  in  any  year  since  we  parted,  I  'd  have  said 
'  Let  me  be  seventeen  again  in  Rouen.'  " 

"The  past  is  always  beautiful.  I  made  you 
very  wretched,  though." 

"  But  you  liked  me  a  little.  Heaven  knows 
why  1  —  I  was  a  fool.     Still  you  did." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  because  you  were  a  '  fool '  that 
I  was  foolish.  That 's  all  over."  She  drew  her 
hands  from  his  clasp. 

"  It  is  n't  over,"  he  said.  "  You  sha'n't  say  it 's 
over.  The  present  may  be  as  beautiful  as  the  past." 


176  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

She  shook  her  head;  "  Can  we  work  miracles? 
Can  I  make  myself  a  girl  again,  or  you  a  boy?  " 

**  Yes,  if  you  Ve  not  forgotten  what  you  felt 
for  me.  If  the  memories  are  not  all  mine,  you 
can  even  do  that.  You  see  I  'm  a  fool  still ;  I  — 
I  half  hoped  that  you  'd  remember.  .  .  .  Joan, 
*  you  were  not  once  so  wise  I '  " 

*'  Ah!  "  she  said.  "  If  I  were  younger  now  — 
or  if  you  had  been  older  then  —  who  knows?  " 

"Could  you  sing  that  song  still?"  he  asked. 
*'  Listen."  He  opened  the  piano,  and  played  a 
few  bars.    "Can  you?" 

"  Oh !  "  She  forced  a  laugh.  "  It  was  too  long 
ago.    And  what  a  song  besides !  " 

"  Try,"  he  pleaded.    "Try  it!" 

"  I  can't  remember  the  words,"  she  murmured. 

"  The  words  ?  — 

'  You  tell  me,  Love,  that  I  '11  forget  you  — 
I  own  it,  in  our  last  "  good-bye,"  ' 

I  'd  be  so  grateful.    Please  1  " 
"  How  does  it  go  on?  " 
"  It  goes  on  — 

*  Our  dream  has  been  too  sweet  to  let  you 
Remember  that  I  spoke  a  lie.'  " 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  IJf^ 

"Oh  yes,"  she  said,  coming  forward.  She 
hummed.    "  Let  me  see  I  — 

*  I  know  the  years  will  crowd  above  you, 
I  know  despair  must  fade  away ; 

But  here  and  now  I  know  I  love  you, 
I  love  you  —  and  we  part  —  to-day.' 

Is  that  It?" 

"That's  It;  and  then  there's  what  I  was 
playing  — 

*  To-day,  to-day  our  dream  Is  over, 
To-day  the  waking,  cold  and  grey.* " 

She  nodded;   "  Yes,  yes  — 

*  What  care  I  Time  will  —  * 
something,  what  Is  It?  — 

'  The  throes  that  rend  my  heart  to-day  ?  * 

Well,  I  '11  try,  but  I  'm  sure  I  sha'n't  be  able  to. 
I  have  n't  heard  It  for  years." 

Then  she  sat  down,  and  began  It;  and  he  shut 
his  eyes  and  tried  to  think  he  was  seventeen  and 
she  was  twenty. 

The  music  stopped  short.  "  I  knew  It  would  be 
a  failure  I  It 's  gone.  It  was  too  long  ago,"  she 
repeated. 


178  CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  It  was  yesterday !  "  he  cried,  and  caught  her 
in  his  arms  as  she  got  up. 

For  a  second  she  held  him  back  from  her,  re- 
garding him  curiously.  Regret,  tenderness,  irony 
were  mingled  in  the  gaze  she  bent  on  him.  Like 
him  she  mourned  for  what  had  perished;  like  him 
she  sought  to  delude  herself  that  it  bloomed  anew. 
.  .  .  "  It 's  absurd,"  she  said,  and  drooped  to  him 
with  a  kiss. 

As  they  moved  apart,  both  were  disappointed. 
The  man  thought,  "  I  have  spoilt  my  memory  of 
her  kiss  to  me  in  Rouen." 

"  I  adore  you,"  he  said  mechanically. 

The  woman's  smile  was  enigmatic  as  she  left 
him. 


CHAPTER   XII 

"  Are  you  heartless?  "  he  continued;  "  have  you 
no  pity  for  me  ?  " 

It  was  the  next  evening.  They  were  sitting 
among  the  basket  chairs  and  the  dinner  dresses  in 
the  garden,  and  there  was  no  one  inconveniently 
near.  Lady  Bletchworth  had  gone  inside  a  few 
minutes  before.  A  warm  breeze  bore  strains  of 
Chopin  to  them  from  the  Kursaal;  the  little  foun- 
tain plashed  languidly,  and  a  full  moon  had  been 
assisting  Conrad  to  deceive  himself. 

"  I  am  not  heartless,"  returned  Mrs.  Adaile, 
"  I  am  sensible.  And  —  there  are  a  thousand 
reasons." 

"  For  one  thing?" 

"  For  one  thing.  ...  I  don't  want  romance  — •■ 
I  want  comedy.  I  want  to  laugh  with  you,  my 
dear  Con,  not  to  be  serious." 

This  was  difficult  to  answer,  for  he  could  not 
offer  to  laugh  at  his  grand  passion.    He  sighed. 


l8o  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH 

"  Besides,"  she  went  on,  "  I  could  n't  make  you 
happy.  It  is  n't  in  my  power  —  you  don't  really 
care  for  me.  You  are  in  love  with  a  memory,  not 
with  me.  I  'm  no  longer  the  woman  you  fell  in 
love  with.  I  've  changed.  Really  I  did  n't  know 
how  much  I  had  changed  till  you  came  here,  I 
must  like  you  very  much  to  want  to  talk  to  you 

—  because   you  make  me   feel   elderly,   you   do 
indeed." 

"  You  're  unjust,"  he  exclaimed  —  and  he  was 
genuinely  distressed.  "  Not  care  for  you?  You 
don't  believe  it,  you  can't  believe  that.  I  swear  to 
you " 

"  No,  don't,"  she  said.  "  I  can  imagine  all  you 
would  say.  Have  n't  I  listened  to  you  ?  Have  n't 
I  even  .  .  .  tried  to  make  illusions  for  myself? 
You  talk  of  what  you  felt  for  me,  not  of  what  you 
feel.  You  don't  know  it,  but  you  rave  to  me  about 
what  I  was,  not  about  what  I  am.  You  remember 
the  hat  and  the  frock  I  had  on  twenty  years  ago 

—  can  you  tell  me  what  I  wore  last  night?  " 

"  Is  such  constancy  nothing?  "  he  cried  hastily. 

"  It  would  be  irresistible,"  she  said,  *'  if  you 

could  find  the  girl  that  you  've  been  constant  to. 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  l8l 

But  she  does  n't  live,  Con  —  she  's  gone.  /  am 
such  a  different  person  from  the  girl  you  've 
looked  for  that  —  that  I  Ve  even  felt  a  tiny  bit 
jealous  sometimes  of  your  rhapsodies  to  me  about 
her.  Well  ?  I  'm  being  quite  frank  with  you,  you 
see.  It 's  pathetic,  I  think.  There  have  been  mo- 
ments when  I  Ve  listened  to  you  and  felt  a  little 
pained  because  you  seemed  to  forget  all  about  me. 
...  I  am  hurting  you?  " 

"  You  hurt  me,"  said  Conrad,  "  because  for  the 
first  time  I  realise  you  are  different  from  the  girl 
I  Ve  looked  for.  Till  now  I  Ve  felt  that  I  was 
with  her  again." 

"  That 's  nice  of  you,  but  it  is  n't  true.  Oh,  I 
like  you  for  saying  it,  of  course.  ...  If  you  had 
felt  it  really " 

"  Go  on." 

"  No,  what  for?  I  should  only  make  you 
unhappier." 

"You  want  comedy?"  he  demurred;  "you 
have  said  the  saddest  things  a  woman  ever  said 
to  me  1  " 

She  raised  a  white  shoulder  —  with  a  laugh; 
"  I  never  get  what  I  want  I  " 


iSa  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

'*  It  should  have  taught  you  to  feel  for  me,  but 
you  are  not  *  wondrous  kind.'  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  more  to  be  pitied  than  you  are  1 
What  have  I  got  in  my  life?  Friends?  Yes  —  to 
play  bridge  with.  My  husband?  He  delivers 
speeches  on  local  option,  and  climbs  mountains. 
Both  make  me  deadly  tired.  I  used  to  go  in  for 
music  —  '  God  save  the  King  '  is  the  only  tune  he 
knows  when  he  hears  it,  and  he  only  knows  that 
because  the  men  take  their  hats  off.  I  was  inter- 
ested in  my  house  at  the  beginning  —  after  you  Ve 
quarrelled  in  your  house  every  day  for  years  it 
does  n't  absorb  you  to  make  the  mantelpiece  look 
pretty.  I  wanted  a  child  —  well,  my  sister  has 
seven  I  .  .  .  Voila  my  autobiography  up  to 
date." 

"  There  is  to-morrow,"  said  Conrad,  moved. 

"  To-morrow  you  must  give  me  the  comedy," 
she  smiled;  "  and  the  morning  after,  I  go  to  the 
Highlands  —  and  big  men  will  shoot  little  birds, 
and  think  it 's  *  sport.'  Did  you  ever  see  a  spar- 
row die?  I  watched  one  once.  It  was  human. 
Like  a  child  I  .  .  .  Come  on,  come  on,  let 's  go 
outl" 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  1 83 

And  behold  another  woman  I  She  had  been  wise, 
and  dejected  him;  now  she  was  unwise,  to  make 
amends.  Behold  a  myriad  women  in  one.  Before 
half  an  hour  had  passed  she  had  told  him  her  phi- 
losophy was  a  puff  ball,  that  she  had  prated  reason 
only  to  be  reasoned  with.  And  she  told  him  so 
without  a  word  about  it  —  said  so  by  the  modula- 
tion of  her  voice  while  they  talked  trifles. 

And  Conrad?  Conrad  had  been  scrambling  to 
the  point  of  friendship,  and  he  slipped  back  to 
folly.  Conrad  strove  to  forget  that  discomfiting 
phrase,  "  You  are  in  love  with  a  memory,  not  with 
me."    It  made  the  folly  so  difficult. 

He  could  not  succeed  in  forgetting  it.  It  was  in 
his  mind  next  day,  coldly  a  fact.  Yes,  he  was 
making  love  to  Mrs.  Adaile  because  she  was 
Mrs.  Adaile,  not  because  she  was  a  charm- 
ing woman.  He  knew  that  if  they  hadn't  met 
before  he  came  to  Ostend,  he  might  have  admired 
her,  tried  to  know  her,  grown  to  like  her,  but  that 
he  would  never  have  said  to  her  what  he  had  said. 
Nor  wished  to  say  it. 

Yet  there  xvas  the  regnant  truth  that  it  was  she. 
She  had  the  fascination  of  sharing  with  him  his 


184  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH 

dearest,  his  sweetest  remembrances;  the  radiance 
of  the  past  still  tinged  her  —  in  her  keeping  lay 
the  wonder  of  his  youth. 

So  they  ate  Neapolitan  ices  in  the  morning, 
and  she  brought  down  the  doyley  in  the  after- 
noon, and  they  listened  to  Chopin  again  in  the 
evening. 

It  was  the  last  evening.  The  Bletchworths  and 
she  were  leaving  early  on  the  morrow,  and  he  was 
unlikely  to  be  alone  with  her  again  before  she 
went. 

"  I  wish  you  were  n't  going,"  he  said.  "  How 
horribly  I  shall  miss  you!  I  sha'n't  stop  here. 
Why  are  n't  you  going  to  Homburg,  instead  of  to 
people  in  Scotland?  Then  we  might  have  met 
again." 

"  Are  you  going  to  Homburg  to  be  *  cured  '  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  shall  go  there.  Or  to  Antwerp. 
Yes,  I  shall  go  to  Antwerp  first.  I  was  there  when 
I  was  a  boy.    I  was  happy  In  Antwerp." 

"  How  funny  you  are,"  she  said  involuntarily. 

"  I  've  never  found  anyone  much  entertained  by 
me.    How?" 

*'  You  '11  go  to  Antwerp,  of  all  places  in  the 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  1 85 

world,  because  you  liked  It  when  you  were  a  boy ! 
Antwerp  will  disappoint  you  —  too." 

"  You  could  always  stab  deep  with  a  monosyl- 
lable," he  said,  "  but  you  used  to  have  more 
mercy." 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  have  deteriorated,"  said  the  lady 
rather  stiffly. 

She  leant  back  In  her  chair,  and  a  minute  passed 
In  silence.  She  gave  her  attention  to  the  orchestra, 
tapping  time  with  the  tip  of  a  shoe. 

"  Does  It  amuse  you  to  say  cruel  things  to  me?  " 
asked  Conrad.  "  If  it  does,  by  all  means  say  what 
you  like." 

"  I  don't  understand  you."  She  drooped  dis- 
dainful eyelids. 

"  What  you  said  was  unworthy  of  you.  You 
know  It  was." 

*'  I  really  forget  what  I  did  say.  Please  talk 
about  something  else.  What  Is  it  they  are 
playing?  " 

They  were  playing  Cavalleria  now,  so  he 
scorned  to  reply  to  this  otherwise  than  by  a  look. 

"  I  asked  you  a  question,"  she  said  In  tones  of 
Ice. 


l86  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  answered  hastily. 
"  They  are  playing  Cavalleria  Rusticana.  An 
opera.  Written  by  a  young  Italian.  His  name  is 
Mascagni." 

"  You  are  rude  I  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  am  human,  Joan.    You  hurt  me !  " 

Then  her  sister  and  Bletchworth  reappeared. 
"  Perhaps  you  know  a  good  hotel?  "  Conrad  was 
saying. 

"An  hotel  where?"  inquired  Lady  Bletch- 
worth. 

"  Mr.  Warrener  is  going  to  Homburg;  I  tell 
him  everybody  says  it 's  deadly  dull  there  this 
year,"  murmured  Mrs.  Adaile. 

It  was  deadly  dull  in  Ostend,  too,  during  the 
next  hour.  Both  women  were  rather  quiet,  and 
Bletchworth  was  exceptionally  wearisome.  But 
for  the  fact  that  it  was  the  farewell  evening  Con- 
rad would  have  seen  friends  among  the  company 
and  gone  to  greet  them. 

However,  at  last  the  orchestra  finished,  and 
they  all  got  up.  A  leisurely  crowd  was  flocking  to 
the  exit,  and  —  perhaps  it  was  the  crowd,  perhaps 
it  was   Lady   Bletchworth  —  Conrad   and   Mrs. 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH  I  $7 

Adaile  were  separated  from  the  others  for  satis- 
factory seconds. 

"  Won't  you  forgive  me  ?  "  he  whispered. 

Even  a  crowd  has  merits  —  her  hand  rested  on 
his  arm  an  instant. 

"  It  must  be  fate,"  he  said;  "  I  always  offend 
you  just  when  we  're  going  to  part.  Do  you 
remember?  " 

She  nodded.  "  I  remember."  Her  glance  was 
very  pretty  in  the  moonshine. 

"This  won't  be  our  last  talk  together?"  he 
begged.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  when  we  go 
in?" 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  sit  in  the  garden." 

"But  —  everybody?" 

"  I  expect  so.  .  .  .  Don't  let 's  keep  behind ! 
Walk  with  Lily."  She  addressed  her  brother- 
in-law,  and  Conrad  sauntered  beside  Lady 
Bletchworth. 

The  windows  of  the  Villa  this,  and  the  Villa 
that,  were  thrown  wide  behind  the  mass  of  blooms. 
In  the  crimson  dusk  of  lamp-shades  there  was  the 
glint  of  a  white  gown,  the  glow  of  a  cigarette  point 
among  cushions,  a  bubble  of  laughter.    Every  min- 


18»  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

ute  a  dim  interior  flashed  to  brightness  —  some- 
one returned  and  switched  on  the  light,  a  woman 
took  off  her  hat  before  the  mirror.  Through  one 
window  came  the  jingle  of  money  on  a  card  table; 
through  another  shouts  —  Paulette  Fleury  was 
singing  to  friends  one  of  the  songs  that  she  had 
not  sung  at  the  Empire  in  London.  To  the  left, 
the  track  of  moonlight  on  the  sea  kept  pace  with 
Conrad. 

It  was  more  agreeable  in  the  garden  than  on 
the  terrace  at  the  onset.  Already  it  had  an  air  of 
intimacy,  the  artificial  enclosure,  with  its  tesselated 
paving,  and  its  affectation  of  rusticity;  already  he 
was  on  good  terms  with  it.  Curiously  enough, 
such  hotel  gardens,  misnamed  as  they  are,  have  a 
knack  of  making  a  visitor  feel  at  home,  of  endear- 
ing themselves  to  him,  more  quickly  than  acres  of 
lawns  and  elms. 

Lady  Bletchworth  wanted  a  brandy-and-soda, 
and  Conrad  had  one,  too;  Mrs.  Adaile  and 
Bletchworth  drank  champagne.  Presently  they  re- 
ferred to  the  shooting-box,  to  the  people  they 
expected  to  see  there.  Almost  for  the  first  time 
Conrad  was  blankly  sensible  of  inhabiting  a  dif- 


CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH  1 89 

ferent  sphere;  he  hoped  they  wouldn't  ask  him 
if  he  knew  any  of  the  people  they  were  mention- 
ing. He  got  very  near  to  his  youth  in  that  mo- 
ment; there  was  a  revival  of  his  boyhood's  dumb 
constraint.  .  .  .  How  odd  it  was !  they  were  all 
sitting  together  like  this,  and  after  to-night  he  was 
never  likely  to  meet  her.  Front  doors  between 
them.  'Gina,  of  course,  might  be  useful ;  but  how 
stupid  of  him  not  to  have  got  into  the  right  set  in 
town  when  he  came  back  from  the  Colony!  He 
supposed  it  would  n't  have  been  difficult,  with  the 
money.  Londoners  boasted  that  everything  the 
world  yielded  was  to  be  bought  in  London,  and 
it  was  true  —  even  to  dignities  and  reputations. 

"  Well,  I  am  forced  to  admit  that  I  don't  know 
what  women  go  to  the  moors  for,"  said  Bletch- 
worth.  "  You  don't  take  the  sport  seriously,  and 
therefore  you  are  out  of  place.  What  do  you  say, 
Mr.  Warrener?" 

"  Well,  I  can  hardly  say  anything,"  owned  Con- 
rad; "  I  don't  go  to  the  moors." 

"  But  if  you  did,  you  would  n't  prefer  a  grouse 
to  a  woman,  I  'm  sure?  "  asked  Lady  Bletchworth. 

"  A  man  does  not  go  to  the  moors  to  talk  to 


190  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

women,"  insisted  her  husband.  *'  That  is  my 
point.  Women  always  want  to  flirt  just  as  the 
birds  are  rising.  Women  are  very  desirable  at  a 
dance,  but  when  it  comes  to  birds,  or  it  comes  to 
cricket,  when  it  comes  to  anything  important,  I 
say,  reluctandy,  they  can't  be  serious.  That  is  my 
point  —  you  don't  take  the  thing  seriously.  Now, 
at  the  Eton  and  Harrow,  were  you  earnest  about 
it;  had  you  got  the  matter  at  heart?  No,  no; 
all  you  wanted  to  do  was  to  walk  about,  and  to 
have  lunch." 

"  A  lot  of  boys  playing  ball !  "  she  said.  "  And 
then  they  take  up  all  the  lawn  besides.  So  selfish 
of  them  1" 

"Ah I"  said  Bletchworth  warningly,  "that  is 
the  tone  that  is  going  to  do  the  harm,  that  is  the 
tone  we  have  to  guard  against.  What  has  made 
us  what  we  are?  What  has  given  England  the 
place  she  holds?  I  protest,  I  protest  absolutely 
against  irresponsible  —  er  —  comment.  The  for- 
eign ideas  that  are  creeping  into  papers  that  have 
always  had  my  —  er  —  approval  will  sap  the 
country's  manhood  if  we  don't  make  a  stand. 
Joan  —  I  am  sure  Joan  agrees  with  me?  " 


CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  Z9I 

She  was  leaning  back  absently,  trifling  with  a 
porte-bonheur  on  her  wrist;  the  blue  fire  of  th« 
diamonds  was  ablaze.  It  caught  Conrad's  glance ; 
from  her  wrist  his  gaze  travelled  to  her  eyes. 
They  told  him,  "  I  'm  so  bored." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  assented,  "  you  're  quite 
right."  It  would  have  been  evident  to  anyone 
but  Bletchworth  that  she  had  not  heard  what  he 
said. 

There  were  fewer  people  in  the  garden  by  this 
time.  In  the  knowledge  that  the  evening  was 
nearly  over,  a  wave  of  sentiment  stirred  Conrad. 
Even  her  message  of  comprehension  did  nothing 
to  subdue  his  annoyance.  What  likelihood  re- 
mained of  a  tete-a-tete?  The  evening  from  first 
to  last  had  been  wasted  in  stupidities. 

Presently  another  group  went  inside,  presently 
there  was  no  one  left  but  themselves.  Finally 
Lady  Bletchworth  yawned.  He  wished  fervently 
that  she  had  yawned  an  hour  ago. 

"  I  think  it 's  time  we  all  went  to  bed,"  she 
said.  "  You  've  laid  down  the  law  quite  enough, 
Charlie.  Shall  we  see  you  in  the  morning,  Mr. 
Warrener?  " 


193  CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  "  of  course.  What  time  is 
the  boat?" 

"I  don't  know  —  ten  something,  isn't  it? 
Well,  I  '11  say  '  good  night.'  I  wish  we  were  stay- 
ing on,  really  I  do  —  I  shall  have  a  racking  head- 
ache to-morrow  evening.    Are  you  ready,  Joan?  " 

"Quite,"  said  Mrs.  Adaile;  "/  have  a  head- 
ache now." 

He  was  hopeless  until  she  let  him  see  her  slip 
the  porte-bonheur  into  her  chair  before  she  rose. 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Warrener." 

"  Good  night,  Mrs.  Adaile,"  he  said. 

When  he  was  alone  he  sat  down  again,  and 
waited  for  her  return;  her  manoeuvre  might  fail, 
someone  return  with  her  —  the  bracelet  must  be 
lying  where  she  had  "  dropped  "  it. 

More  than  five  minutes  crept  by  before  a  step 
sounded.  He  turned  eagerly,  and  with  dismay 
beheld  Lord  Armoury  approaching.  The  intruder 
gaped  at  the  view,  and  stood  hesitating,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  It  was  an  instant  of  the 
keenest  suspense.  Would  he  withdraw?  No,  he 
lounged  forward.  He  threw  himself  into  the  very 
chair,  and  stretched  his  legs  across  another. 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  1 93 

Conrad  muttered  an  anathema  on  him. 

"  Eh?  "  said  Lord  Armoury. 

"  I  didn't  speak,"  said  Conrad  frigidly. 

The  young  man  took  out  a  cigarette,  and  opened 
his  match-box.    It  was  empty. 

"  Got  a  light?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  have  n't,"  said  Conrad,  momen- 
tarily encouraged. 

"Rotten  show!"  said  the  Earl;  "  where 's  a 
waiter?  "  He  contemplated  his  cigarette  with  a 
semi-intoxicated  frown,  and  transferred  his  feet  to 
the  table.  It  was  apparent  that  he  meant  to  stop 
although  he  could  not  smoke.  With  his  change  of 
position  he  was  liable  to  come  in  contact  with  the 
bracelet,  and  Conrad  watched  him  nervously,  but 
he  did  not  seem  to  be  discommoded  by  it. 

*'  Seen  Paulette?  "  he  asked. 

"  No."  The  "  no  "  of  a  man  who  is  not  to  be 
drawn  into  conversation. 

"  Pauly  's  a  bit  of  all  right,"  affirmed  the  Earl, 
undeterred.  '*  I  don't  pretend  to  be  up  to  all  the 
patter,  but  —  wot  hof  " 

Speechlessly  Conrad  hoped  the  lady  wouldn't 
come  back  yet. 


194  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  Three  hundred  a  week  she  refused  for  a  re- 
turn engagement  at  the  Empire  —  told  me  so  her- 
self to-night.  That 's  Pauly  1  Got  the  hump. 
What 's  three  hundred  to  Pauly?  I  told  'em  how 
she  'd  catch  on  before  she  went  over.  Don't  I 
know?  "  He  winked  profoundly.  "  Look  here, 
you  '11  see  an  artist  in  October  at  the  Syndicate 
halls,  that's  —  wot  ho!  She's  going  to  knock 
'em.  Between  ourselves  she  's  got  some  new  *  busi- 
ness,' that  —  well,  it's  great!  Never  been  tried. 
I  saw  her  when  she  was  doing  the  last  turn  at  the 
South  London.  I  said  to  George,  '  Cocky,  that 's 
a  winner! '  Robey  couldn't  see  it.  /  saw  it;  I 
can  put  my  finger  on  the  talent  every  time.  She  's 
going  to  make  Marie  sit  up,  my  boy  —  she  's  an- 
other Marie  Lloyd.  Don't  I  know?  I  've  got  the 
judgment.  I  can  spot  'em  with  one  peeper!  .  .  . 
Is  n't  there  a  waiter  in  this  damned  hotel?  I  could 
do  with  a  tiddley.    Where  's  a  bell  ?  " 

"  It 's  no  use  ringing,"  said  Conrad,  "  nobody 
ever  comes.  It  wants  someone  to  go  in  and  stir 
them  up." 

But  now  Mrs.  Adaile  reappeared. 

"Oh I"    she   murmured.      And   then,    "I've 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  1 95 

dropped  a  bracelet  somewhere;  I  came  down  to 
look  for  it.    Good  evening,  Lord  Armoury." 

"  A  bracelet?  "  echoed  Conrad  with  concern. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Adaile  —  a  bracelet? 
Crumbs  1  "  said  Armoury. 

"  Yes,  is  n't  it  a  nuisance  1  I  don't  know  how  I 
could  have  lost  it  —  I  suppose  the  clasp  was  loose. 
I  had  it  on  out  here." 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Conrad.  In  an 
undertone  he  added,  "  Don't  find  it  yet.  Let 's 
look  further  off.  Oh  my  dearest,  it  was  so 
sweet  of  you  1  I  'm  in  such  a  rage,  I  'm  so 
wretched." 

"  Where  were  you  sitting,  Mrs.  Adaile?  "  asked 
Armoury,  peering  about. 

"  Over  here,  over  there,  I  don't  know,"  she  said 
hurriedly.  .  .  .  "  Is  it  still  in  the  chair?"  she 
whispered. 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Conrad.  "  Are  you  sorry 
you 're  going  from  me  ?  " 

"  A  little." 

"  To  leave  you  like  this,"  he  sighed,  "  It  *s 
awful.    Joan " 

"Well?" 


196  CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  Let  me  come  to  your  room  to  say  *  good- 
bye.' " 

She  started. 

"Hallo  I  Have  you  got  it?"  exclaimed 
Armoury. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  — I  thought  I  had." 

"Joan?" 

"  I  dare  n't,"  she  faltered.    "  My  maid " 

"  Come  and  say '  good-bye  '  to  me,  then.    Do  I  '* 

"Find  it  I"  she  said  agitatedly — "he'll 
guess." 

"What's  that?"  cried  Conrad.  "Here  it  is 
—  why,  in  one  of  our  chairs !  May  I  —  ?  "  He 
fastened  the  bracelet  on  her  wrist.  "  Make  me 
happy.  Come  to  me,"  he  begged.  "Will  you? 
Number  seventeen." 

Her  fingers  touched  his  hand. 

"  I  'm  so  immensely  grateful  to  you  both,"  she 
said  serenely. 

"  Lucky  for  her  we  were  here  I  "  the  intruder 
remarked  when  she  had  gone.  "  One  of  the  ser- 
vants might  have  pinched  it  by  the  morning." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  was  as  well  we  were  here," 
said  Conrad  amiably.    "  If  it  had  n't  been  for  you, 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF   HIS   YOUTH  1 97 

I  should  have  turned  in  before  this."  He  dropped 
back  Into  his  seat,  resigning  himself  to  tedium  a 
little  longer. 

He  lolled  there  discreetly,  making  civil  re- 
sponses —  and  gradually  he  realised  that  Flossie 
Coburg's  son  was  not  wholly  to  be  blamed  for  the 
tedium ;  he  recognised  that  there  was  a  dulness  of 
his  own  spirit.  While  he  countenanced  the  gar- 
rulity of  a  fool,  his  thoughts  were  with  scenes  of 
twenty  years  before,  and  sadly  the  man  strove  to 
revive  in  his  heart  the  idolatry  and  illusions  of  the 
boy.  Oh,  for  the  enchantment  of  the  summer 
when  he  had  called  her  "  Mrs.  Adaile !  "...  If 
he  could  only  keep  remembering  it  was  the  same 
woman  I  But  never  had  she  seemed  so  different 
to  him  as  in  these  minutes  —  never  had  he  desired 
so  little  as  now  when  she  had  promised  all. 

The  ground  floor  of  the  hotel  was  partially 
dark  when  he  crossed  it;  a  purposeless  waiter 
hovered  in  obscurity.  Upstairs,  along  the  pas- 
sage, the  tan  and  black  rows  of  boots,  shapely  on 
boot-trees,  indicated  that  most  of  the  visitors  had 
retired.  A  drowsy  lady's-maid  put  forth  an  ex- 
pectant face,  and  withdrew  it  wearily.     Conrad 


198  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

felt  about  the  wall  for  the  electric  button,  which 
seemed  always  in  a  different  spot,  and  found  it. 
Then  he  closed  his  door  as  completely  as  was 
possible  without  turning  the  knob. 

As  he  put  down  his  watch  he  saw  that  it  was 
late,  but  he  knew  that  it  was  not  yet  late  enough, 
and  his  movements  were  leisurely.  He  wanted  a 
cigarette  —  the  more  because  he  had  deprived 
himself  of  one  outside  by  saying  that  he  had  no 
match,  but  he  was  reluctant  to  give  the  odour  of 
tobacco  to  the  room.  A  superfluous  grace,  per- 
haps, now  that  most  women  smoked?  Still  he  was 
reluctant.  He  threw  down  his  cigarette-case,  too, 
and  the  rest  of  the  things  that  had  been  in  his 
pockets.  .  .  . 

He  looked  at  himself  ruminatingly  in  the  mir- 
ror, and  brushed  his  moustache. 

One  of  the  lights  hung  above  the  pillow  —  it 
was  convenient  to  read  by.  Presently  it  occurred 
to  him  that  nearly  two  acts  of  "  Le  Marquis  de 
Priola  "  remained  to  divert  him.  He  put  forth 
his  arm  for  it,  and,  stretching,  reached  it.  He 
turned  the  leaves.  .  .  .  Une  dame  viendra  de  deux 
a  trots.    Ah  yes,  this  was  as  far  as  he  had  read. 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH  igp 

The  effort  to  give  his  attention  to  the  play  grew 
gradually  less.  Mournfulness  faded,  and  in  the 
next  scene  his  interest  was  alert.  Once  he  laughed. 
His  thoughts  were  no  longer  with  the  boy  who  had 
lain  wakeful  through  a  night  just  to  hear  her  foot- 
step in  the  hall. 

The  wind  was  rising,  and  intermittently  It 
tricked  and  irritated  him.  The  blustering  wind, 
and  the  chiming  of  a  clock  made  the  only  sounds. 

Again  the  clock  rang  out.  This  time  he  counted 
the  strokes  with  annoyance.  He  yawned.  His 
interest  was  wandering  from  the  play  now.  It 
began  to  seem  to  him  that  Priola  talked  too  much. 
What  was  keeping  her  —  had  she  repented  her 
promise?  He  tossed  the  book  aside,  and  lay 
watching  the  door. 

After  he  had  watched  it  for  nearly  half-an-hour 
it  was  gently  opened,  and  swiftly  closed,  and  Mrs. 
Adaile  stood  on  the  threshold.  She  paused  there 
diffidently,  with  downcast  eyes.  She  wore  a  long 
clinging  robe  of  crepe  de  chine,  veiled  partly  by  a 
stole  of  Venetian  point.  The  sleeves  of  the  deep 
toned  lace,  dividing  at  the  shoulders,  drooped  from 
her  like  wings.     One  daring  touch  of  colour,  the 


200  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

flame  of  nasturtium,  at  her  breast  threw  into  daz- 
zling relief  the  gleaming  whiteness  of  her  skin,  the 
burnished  gold  of  her  hair.  She  paused,  awaiting 
doubtless  the  words  of  welcome,  of  encourage- 
ment, that  would  vanquish  her  timidity.  But  Con- 
rad slept.  A  respiration  too  loud  to  be  thought 
rapture,  and  too  faint  to  be  called  a  snore,  smote 
the  lady's  hearing.  Startled,  she  looked  up; 
forked  lightning  flashed  at  him  from  her  indignant 
eyes.    But,  tranquil,  Conrad  slept. 

What  an  offence !  Was  n't  it  enough  to  enrage 
the  sweetest  of  women?  Put  yourself  —  I  mean 
it  was  unpardonable ! 

For  a  second  she  seemed  about  to  escape  even 
more  surreptitiously  than  she  had  entered;  and 
then  a  smile,  half  sad,  half  whimsical,  twitched  her 
lips.  A  sense  of  humour  —  how  much  it  spares 
us,  how  far  it  goes  in  life  I  A  little  pathetic  that 
often  a  sense  of  humour  wins  affection,  and  the 
noble  qualities  get  nothing  but  a  dull  respect.  She 
looked  at  a  pencil-case  on  the  table,  and  stood 
tempted,  her  fingers  at  her  mouth.  Dared  she  do 
it  1  She  would  not  have  roused  him  for  a  coronet 
—  and  the  creak  of  a  board,  even  the  scratching 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  201 

of  the  lead,  might  be  fatal.  She  wavered.  She 
moved  towards  the  pencil  slowly,  stealthily,  inch 
by  inch. 

The  table  was  gained.  There  was  nothing  to 
write  on.  A  paper-covered  volume  lay  to  her 
hand;  with  infinite  precaution  she  tore  the  title- 
page.  Tremulously  she  scribbled,  holding  her 
breath.  Where  to  leave  the  message,  where  to  put 
it  so  that  It  couldn't  be  overlooked?  Again  she 
hesitated.  Conrad  slept  sound,  a  glance  assured 
her  of  it.  Again  she  ventured.  An  Instant  her 
gaze  dwelt  upon  him,  still  with  that  smile  half 
mirthful  and  half  melancholy  on  her  face.  She 
nodded,  wide-eyed  —  and  on  the  tips  of  her  toes 
crept  out  unheard,  unseen. 

When  Conrad  woke,  a  servant  was  admitting 
the  sunshine  through  the  window;  his  coffee 
steamed  by  his  side.  As  he  sat  up  —  and  almost 
before  memory  thudded  in  him  —  his  view  met 
the  front  page  of  "  Le  Marquis  de  Priola  "  pinned 
to  the  bed-curtain.  He  rolled  towards  it  hag- 
gardly.   On  It  was  written:  — 

"  Dreamer!  Good-bye.  There  is  no  way  bade 
to  Rouen." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

*'  I  MUST  fay  I  was  very  happy  on  the  stage," 
sighed  the  Countess  of  Darlington,  lifting  the 
teapot. 

The  Earl  of  Armoury's  mother  threw  up  her 
eyes.  A  shapeless,  waddling  woman,  the  duchess, 
with  a  sanctimonious  voice.  There  were  elderly 
gentlemen  who,  remembering  Flossie's  agility  with 
a  tambourine  at  the  old  Pavilion,  felt  reformation 
to  be  a  sad  affair  when  they  looked  at  her. 

"  Not  '  happy,'  "  she  said  piously,  "  dazzled  — 
only  dazzled,  dear  Lady  Darlington.  Ladies  like 
you  and  I  can't  be  happy  on  the  stage.  It  goes 
against  the  grain  with  you  and  I." 

Lady  Darlington  pouted.  She  was  provokingly 
pretty  when  she  pouted.  She  had  pouted  at  Dar- 
lington on  the  day  he  met  her. 

"  But  I  was  happy,"  she  declared. 

"  You  were  n't  satisfied  in  your  heart;  I  'm  sure 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  203 

you  always  felt  there  was  better  work  to  be 
done?" 

"  Oh  yes,  but  I  hoped  to  get  leading  parts  in 
time."- 

"  I  mean  purer  work,"  explained  the  duchess, 
wincing,  "  social,  helpful  work." 

Lady  Darlington  laughed.  She  was  prettier 
still  when  she  laughed.  She  had  laughed  at  Dar- 
lington on  the  day  he  proposed. 

"  No,  really  not,"  she  said  frankly,  "  I  never 
thought  about  it  for  a  moment.  Do  you  know. 
Duchess,  I  Ve  always  wanted  to  ask  you  —  did  n't 
you  ache  to  go  back  to  it  after  you  married?  " 

"Oh  never,"  exclaimed  the  duchess;  "I  was 
grateful  to  Providence  for  letting  me  get  away 
from  it  all.  Circumstances  made  me  go  into  the 
business,  but  I  was  never  a  pro  —  I  mean  to  say 
a  '  professional '  —  by  nature.  My  father,  the 
captain,  died  when  I  was  quite  a  child,  and  I  had 
my  dear  mother  to  support." 

"  M'yes,"  murmured  Lady  Darlington,  looking 
at  the  ceiling.  "  You  were  before  my  time,  but 
of  course  I  've  heard.  .  .  .  Perhaps  if  I  had  been 
in  the  music-halls  /  should  have  been  glad  to  get 


a04  CONRAD   IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

away  from  it  all,"  she  added;  "I  was  in  the 
theatres,  you  know." 

"The  'smalls,'  I  think — I  mean  to  say  the 
'minor  provincial  towns?'"  said  the  duchess  a 
shade  tartly;  "one  of  Jenkinson's  Number  IL 
companies,  wasn't  it?" 

"  Lots  of  people  considered  it  was  better  than 
the  Number  I.,"  returned  Lady  Darlington  with 
pride,  "  and  the  Rotherham  Advertiser  said  a 
voice  of  such  diapason  as  mine  was  n't  often  heard 
in  musical  comedy." 

"Such  what  as  yours?" 

"  Diapason.    Won't  you  have  some  muffin?  " 

"  They  always  serve  me  out  so,"  said  the 
duchess,  "  but  I  will  have  just  a  mossel."  She 
regarded  her  hostess  anxiously;  "  I  hope  you 
are  n't  going  to  be  mad?  "  she  said. 

"I  am  mad,"  admitted  Rosalind  —  her  name 
was  Rosalind  —  "  mad  with  the  longing  for  auld 
lang  syne.  If  I  were  n't  crazy  I  should  n't  own 
it,  because  you  can't  enter  into  my  feelings  a  bit, 
but  you  're  the  only  woman  I  meet  who  ought  to 
be  able  to  understand  them.  Long?  Sometimes 
for  a  treat  I  tell  the  servants  I  'm  not  at  home  to 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  205 

anyone,  and  I  shut  myself  up  and  long  the  tears 
into  my  eyes  1  " 

"You  cry  for  the  stage?  Oh,  but,  my  dear 
Lady  Darlington,  you  must  n't  give  way,  you  must 
be  firm  with  yourself.  Think,  just  think,  what  an 
example  you  'd  be  setting  if  you  took  to  it  again  I 
In  our  position  we  have  the  Country  to  consider. 
The  middle  classes  say  *  What 's  good  enough  for 
the  Aristocracy  must  be  good  enough  for  us.* 
We  have  to  consider  our  influence  on  those  in  a 
humbler  sphere." 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  take  to  it  again,"  said  Rosa- 
lind. "How  can  I?  Besides,  I  don't  want  so 
much  to  act  —  I  've  no  ambition  except  to  be 
jolly  —  it's  the  life  I  ache  for.  I'm  dull,  dull, 
dull  I  I  want  to  be  among  the  people  I  remember. 
My  heart  turns  back  to  Dixie.  I  would  n't  say 
*  thank  you  '  to  be  with  actors  and  actresses  in 
London,  in  the  West-End;  they're  only  imita- 
tions of  the  Lords  and  Ladies  that  bore  me.  I 
want  to  be  on  the  road  with  a  Number  II.  crowd 
—  yes,  and  a  Number  III.  crowd  for  preference. 
I  want  to  arrive  in  a  hole-and-corner  town  on  a 
Sunday  night,  and  have  supper  in  lodgings,  and 


0 

206  CONRAD   IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

see  stout  in  a  jug  again,  and  call  the  landlady 
*  Ma.'  Oh,  how  soul-stirring  it  would  be  to  call 
a  landlady 'Ma!'" 

"  Lodgings  ?  Look  at  your  drawing-room,  with 
Louis  Cans  furniture !  "  said  the  duchess  admon- 
ishingly.    *'  You  can't  be  serious?  " 

"  Serious?  I  'm  pathetic!  Of  course  I  should 
find  I  had  been  spoilt  for  it  —  the  pleasure 
would  n't  last ;  the  stout  would  taste  sour  soon, 
and  I  should  find  the  landlady  impudent,  and  the 
lodgings  dirty;  I  daresay  I  should  wish  my- 
self back  in  St.  James'  Square  before  I  had 
been  away  a  month.  But  I  don't  want  to  give 
up  St.  James'  Square  —  I  only  want  a  week-end 
sometimes  as  a  tonic.  That 's  all  I  want,  just 
week-ends.  If  I  could  be  Rosalind  Heath  again 
from  Saturday  to  Monday  sometimes,  I  'd  be 
Lady  Darlington  all  the  rest  of  the  year  cheerfully 
enough." 

This  was  the  moment  when  her  Idea  was  born. 
As  the  idea  had  consequences,  it  is  noteworthy 
that  this  was  the  moment.  If  she  could  be  Rosa- 
lind Heath  again  from  Saturday  to  Monday! 
She  had  never  debated  the  possibility;   but  why 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  207 

not  —  why  not  even  for  a  week?  She  couldn't 
call  herself  "  Rosalind  Heath "  again,  because 
everybody  in  Theatre  Land  knew  that  Rosalind 
Heath  had  married  the  Earl  of  Darlington,  but 
who  among  a  lowly  band  of  players  would  know 
her  face?  She  had  not  been  a  star.  All  she 
needed  for  the  freak  was  a  confidante.  What  had 
become  of  Tattie  Lascelles? 

Lady  Darlington  blushed  with  self-reproach. 
That  she  should  have  to  question  what  had  be- 
come of  Tattie!  She  sat,  after  the  duchess  had 
departed,  remembering  days  when  she  and  Tattie 
had  been  bosom  friends.  They  had  shared  hopes 
and  lodgings;  they  had  told  each  other  their 
peccadilloes,  and  even  their  salaries.  And  now 
she  did  n't  know  where  Tattie  was  ?  Could  St. 
James'  Square  have  made  her  heartless?  How 
had  their  correspondence  died?  .  .  .  Ah  yes,  in 
Tattle's  last  letter  ages  ago  she  had  asked  for  the 
sum  of  five  pounds  "  just  for  a  fortnight."  But 
how  monstrous  of  Tattie  to  feel  constrained  be- 
cause she  hadn't  sent  it  backl  Who  had  ex- 
pected it? 

On  the  seventeenth  day  of  December,  when 


ao8  CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

Darlington,  looking  a  ridiculous  object,  had 
boomed  away  in  a  new  car,  of  which  he  was  in- 
ordinately proud,  Rosalind  stole  guiltily  into  a 
news-agent's.  She  would  not  meet  her  lord  again 
for  a  month.  Her  beautiful  eyes  sparkled,  and 
her  cheeks  were  flushed.  She  tendered  two 
pennies  to  a  vulgar  man,  smoking  a  clay  pipe  be- 
hind the  counter,  and  asked  for  the  Stage.  To  the 
happily  constituted  there  can  seem  nothing  calcu- 
lated to  kindle  the  emotions  in  the  act  of  buying 
a  twopenny  paper  in  a  squalid  shop,  but  Rosalind 
had  a  temperament,  and  temperaments  play  queer 
tricks.  (See  Conrad's.)  The  tender  grace  of  a 
day  that  was  dead  hallowed  the  damp  copy  of  a 
journal  in  which  she  had  formerly  advertised  that 
she  was  "  Resting;  "  the  touch  of  vanished  hands 
sent  little  thrills  to  her  heart  as  her  gaze  embraced 
familiar  names. 

She  went  back  to  the  drawing-room  fire,  and 
read  them  diligently.  Dusk  and  a  footman  crept 
in  before  she  discovered  Miss  Tattie  Lascelles, 
but  that  artist's  announcement  leapt  to  her  with 
the  electric  light.  Miss  Tattie  Lascelles  informed 
the  kingdom  that  she  was  specially  engaged  to 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS   YOUTH  20g 

create  the  part  of  "  Dellcia  Potts  "  in  the  mari- 
time musical  farce  entitled  Little  Miss  Kiss-And- 
Tell,  on  Blithepoint  Pier.  The  date  chosen  for 
this  perfectly  unimportant  production  was  Mon- 
day, December  22nd.  Then  Rosalind,  who  was 
to  go  to  the  Marrables  in  Leicestershire  for  Christ- 
mas, wrote  Lady  Marrable  a  note  of  grieved  ex- 
cuse, and  scribbled  a  letter  to  Tattie,  which  began, 
"  Take  two  bedrooms  in  Blithepoint,  and  don't 
breathe  a  word  to  a  soul  till  you  see  me." 

And  though  the  happily  constituted  may  be 
sceptical  again,  she  felt  more  joyous  than  she  had 
done  for  five  illustrious  years. 

Blithepoint  is  about  thirty-three  miles  by  rail 
from  Sweetbay.  It  is  a  grey,  bleak  place,  with  the 
plainest  female  population  in  England.  On  three 
hundred  days  of  the  year  the  wind  is  due  east,  but 
on  the  other  sixty-five  it  is  southeast,  and  then  the 
residents  go  about  saying  what  "  lovely  weather 
they  're  having."  Blithepoint  is  much  larger  than 
Sweetbay,  and  more  fashionable.  It  is  also  nearly 
as  dull.  Nobody  is  aware  how  much  can  be  spent 
on  being  deadly  dull  until  he  has  stayed  in  a  Blithe- 
point hotel.    Rosalind  was  a  shade  uneasy  in  the 


2IO  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH 

thought  that  someone  among  the  visitors  might 
recognise  her;  she  knew  that  at  Christmas  eccen- 
tric Londoners  occasionally  went  down  there,  and 
wished  afterwards  they  had  been  economical  and 
gone  to  Egypt.    But  she  did  n't  falter. 

She  ran  away  on  Sunday  the  21st.  She  had  put 
on  her  simplest  costume,  and  her  portmanteau  told 
no  tales.  To  make-believe  to  the  fullest  extent, 
she  travelled  in  a  third-class  compartment.  Al- 
ready she  was  greatly  excited.  As  the  train 
crawled  out  of  Victoria  she  could  have  clapped 
her  hands. 

When  she  arrived  it  was  eight  o'clock,  and  a 
bitter  evening.  The  scramble  for  luggage  kept 
her  shivering  on  the  platform  for  ten  minutes,  and 
then  a  fly  bumped  her  through  the  shuttered  town. 
It  was  the  hour  of  local  dissipation;  on  one  side 
of  the  favourite  thoroughfare  the  blades  of  Blithe- 
point  paraded  jauntily,  crying  "  Pip,  pip "  to 
stolid-faced  young  women  on  the  other,  who  took 
no  notice  of  them.  Lady  Darlington,  reckless  for 
sensations,  envied  these  "  roysterers  "  who  could 
feel  devilish  gay  so  Innocently. 

The   cab   shaved   a    corner,    and   rattled  into 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST  OF    HIS   YOUTH  211 

a  neighbourhood  of  obscure  apartment-houses. 
Her  mutinous  heart  warmed  with  sentiment,  and 
she  forgot  how  cold  her  pretty  feet  were.  The 
cab  stopped.  She  saw  the  bUnd  of  the  ground- 
floor  window  dragged  aside;  an  impetuous  figure 
appeared,  and  vanished.  The  street-door  was 
pulled  wide,  and  a  girl  with  a  cloud  of  hair,  and 
a  string  of  barbaric  beads  danghng  to  the  waist, 
flew  down  the  steps  and  hugged  her. 

"  You  trump  I    You  Ve  really  come  1  " 

"  You  duck !    How  jolly  to  see  you  I  " 

"  'Ere,  two  bob,  missie,"  said  the  flyman, 
"  when  you  Ve  done  canoodling." 

They  ran  into  the  parlour,  and  laughed  at  eacK 
other  in  the  gaslight. 

"  Take  your  things  off,"  said  Tattie:  "let  me 
help  you.  I  hope  you  '11  like  the  diggings.  I 
wrote  to  the  swellest  address  I  could  hear  of,  when 
I  got  your  letter." 

"  But  you  should  n't  have.    What  for?  " 

"  Well,  for  you." 

**  I  wanted  everything  just  as  it  used  to  be. 
That  was  it." 

"  How  funny  I     But  I  don't  suppose  these  will 


212  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

Strike  you  as  very  swagger  after  what  you  Ve  got 
at  home." 

"  They  don't." 

"  Won't  they  be  good  enough?  " 

"  They  're  heavenly.  Oh,  Tattle,  how  good  it 
is  to  be  backl  Did  anybody  bring  in  my  trunk? 
*  In  the  Shade  of  the  Palm,'  and  a  Vocal  Folio 
on  the  piano!  And  professional  photographs  on 
the  shelf!  Oh,  let  me  see  the  photographs! 
'  To  Mrs.  Cheney  from  Miss  Bijou  Chamber- 
lain —  wishing  you  a  Merry  Christmas.'  Who  is 
she?" 

"  She  was  here  last  week  —  a  Variety  artist. 
She  seems  to  have  been  comfortable,  as  she  gave 
the  landlady  her  photograph.  Are  you  ready  for 
supper?  " 

"  Stout?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"In  a  jug?" 

"  Well,  I  thought  after  what  you  had  come 
from  I  had  better  order  Guinness." 

For  a  moment  Rosalind  looked  downcast. 
"Ah  well,  never  mind,"  she  said;  "we'll  have 
it  in  a  jug  to-morrow." 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  213 

They  drew  their  chairs  to  the  ham-and-beef, 
and  the  landlady  brought  in  the  Guinness. 

"  Good  evening,  Ma,"  said  Rosalind,  with 
youth  in  her  bosom. 

"  Good  evening,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Cheney. 
"  You  '11  be  glad  of  your  supper,  I  daresay,  after 
your  journey?  "  She  put  comestibles  on  the  table 
in  three  paper  bags.  "  I  was  meaning  to  tell  you. 
Miss  Lascelles,  that  if  you  'd  like  a  bit  of  some- 
thing hot  in  the  evening  when  you  come  back  from 
the  show,  you  can  have  it.  I  'm  not  one  to  fuss 
about  hotting  something  up.  Sundays  we  let  the 
fire  out,  but  In  the  week  you  can  have  it  and 
welcome." 

"Good  business  I"  said  Miss  Lascelles.  "In 
some  places  you  *  get  It  hot '  if  you  ask  for  It." 

"  By  rights  some  places  should  n't  take  pro- 
fessionals," returned  Mrs.  Cheney.  "  I  've  'card 
many  tales.  Miss  Chamberlain  —  her  on  the 
mantelpiece  —  was  telling  me  that  where  she  was 
in  Brighton  they  would  n't  allow  her  to  have  her 
uncle  in  to  see  her.  Such  a  quiet,  ladylike  gal, 
too!" 

"  Can  such  things  be?  "  cried  Rosalind.    "  Is  a 


214  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

poor  girl  to  be  cut  off  from  her  own  flesh  and 
blood  because  she  's  in  diggings?  " 

"Ah,  I  don't  wonder  at  your  asking  1"  said 
Mrs.  Cheney.  "  Not,  mind  you,"  she  added,  "  but 
what  letting  lodgings  over  a  number  of  years 
makes  one  a  bit  suspicious  of  uncles.  I  Ve  known 
a  gentleman  brought  to  these  very  rooms  after 
the  show  on  three  different  Monday  evenings  as 
the  uncle  of  three  different  young  ladies.  And 
dreadful  taken  aback  he  was  when  he  see  me  each 
time!  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  those  were  flighty  girls,"  said 
Rosalind  severely. 

"  Untruthful  they  was,"  said  Mrs.  Cheney, 
"  and  so  I  told  'em.  I  say  nothing  about  visitors, 
I  'm  not  that  evil-minded.  So  long  as  the  lady 
pays  a  bit  extra  for  the  gas,  and  the  gentleman 
don't  slam  the  door  when  he  goes,  I  like  to  think 
well  of  everyone.    But  I  'ate  lies." 

She  drew  the  cork,  and  retired;  and  Rosalind 
said,  "Well,  what  about  the  show.  Tat?  What 
sort  of  part  have  you  got?  " 

"  The  part 's  rather  good,"  said  Miss  Lascelles. 

*'  Hurrah  I    What  screw  ?  " 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  215 

"  Rotten  —  thirty-five  shillings.  I  had  to  take 
what  I  could  get;  I  Ve  been  '  out '  a  long  time. 
They're  paying  awful  salaries  in  this  crowd;  the 
chorus  only  get  about  fifteen  bob,  I  believe  — 
they  're  half  of  them  novices." 

"  I  say  I    Whose  crowd  is  it?  " 

"  It 's  a  Syndicate;  nobody  ever  heard  of  it  be- 
fore. And  the  Tenor  has  such  a  cold  he  could 
hardly  speak  at  the  dress-rehearsal  last  night  — 
goodness  knows  how  he 's  going  to  sing  to- 
morrow." 

"  Who  is  your  principal  woman?  " 

"She  has  backed  out;  they've  put  somebody 
else  into  the  part  at  the  last  minute.  And  the 
scenery  has  still  to  come  down  —  it 's  a  bit  of  a 
muddle  all  round.  I  wish  I  could  have  got  into  a 
better  thing,  but  I  was  so  hard  up  —  you  ought 
to  have  seen  where  I  was  lodging!  I  tried  to 
get  '  shopped '  last  month  as  an  Extra.  That 
speaks!  " 

"  An  Extra  ?  No  ?  Tat !  why  did  n't  you  write 
to  me?"  exclaimed  Rosalind  reproachfully. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  heard  the  '  great '  Miss 
Hayward  wanted  thirty  Extra-ladies  to  go  on  in 


2l6  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

the  ball  scene.  It  was  twenty-five  bob  a  week  — 
she  wanted  picked  women  —  it  would  just  have 
done  me.  Lil  Rayburn  lent  me  her  little  squirrel 
coat  and  a  black  velvet  hat.  I  tell  you  I  looked  a 
treat  when  I  went  down !  There  were  three  hun- 
dred and  forty  girls  waiting;  we  were  sent  across 
the  stage  thirty  at  the  time.  The  great  Hayward 
sat  in  the  stalls,  with  her  pince-nez  up.  '  You !  ' 
she  said,  pointing;  '  the  one  in  the  squirrel  coat  I  ' 
So  I  went  to  her.  '  I  think  you  '11  do,'  she  drawled; 
'  you  know  what  the  money  is  ?  '  '  Twenty-five, 
Miss  Hayward,'  I  said,  'isn't  it?'  'No,  a 
guinea,'  she  said,  '  it  does  n't  matter  to  you.^ 
'  Thank  you,'  I  said,  '  I  've  got  to  keep  myself 
out  of  my  salary  —  /  have  n't  got  a  man,  and  a 
flat ! '  Potter,  the  agent,  was  in  an  awful  stew 
—  '  Oh,  you  should  n't  have  spoken  to  Miss  Hay- 
ward like  that  I '    '  To  hell!  '  I  said." 

"Cat!"  cried  Rosalind.  "Because  you  were 
well-dressed?  " 

"  Yes;  and  if  I  had  gone  shabby,  she  wouldn't 
have  noticed  me  at  all.  .  .  .  You  know  I  've  been 
in  the  Variety  business  since  you  saw  me?  " 

"  The  music-halls  1    You  have  n't?  " 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  217 

"  Straight  I  I  was  one  of  the  Four  Sisters 
Tarantelle.  Jolly  good  money  —  I  got  five 
pounds  a  week  when  we  worked  two  shows  a 
night ;  I  never  got  less  than  three  ten.  I  can't  get 
it  on  the  stage." 

"  Why  did  you  give  them  up  ?  But  the  tips 
are  very  heavy,  are  n't  they?  " 

"  They  were  n't  heavy  for  me^  I  did  n't  tip  any- 
body except  the  dresser.  Chloe  made  the  en- 
gagements, so  Chloe  could  pay  the  tips.  Trust 
this  child !  What  does  make  you  sick  in  that  busi- 
ness is  the  comedians,  with  the  red  noses  and  the 
umbrellas  —  they  're  always  after  you.  There 
was  a  little  brute  in  one  show  —  his  wife  was  in 
the  bill,  too ;  she  did  sentimental  ballads.  Well  I 
how  he  could  let  her  travel  /  don't  know.  It  was 
her  last  week,  but  she  was  n't  fit  to  be  working  so 

long,    we    almost    expected   any   night And 

there  he  was  after  me  all  the  time !  '  I  shall  write 
to  you,  Tattie  —  I  see  you  go  to  Balham,  and 
Walham  Green  next  week  I  '  '  Who  gave  you 
leave  to  call  me  "  Tattie?  "  '  I  said;  '  you  low  cur, 
I  wish  I  was  a  man,  to  give  you  a  good  hiding ! ' 
I  did  pity  his  wife.    She  never  spoke  to  me  —  she 


31 8  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

used  to  pass  me  in  the  wings  with  her  head  turned 
away;  I  suppose  she  thought  I  was  as  bad  as  he 
was.    I  said  to  her  one  evening  when  she  was  ill, 

*  Can  I  get  you  anything,   Miss '  I  forget 

what  her  name  was.  '  No,  I  thank  you.  Miss 
Tarantelle,'  she  said  —  like  that;  wouldn't  look 
at  me  I  I  was  so  sorry  for  her.  Poor  little 
woman,  what  a  life  I  " 

Rosalind  shuddered.  After  a  pause,  she 
said:  — 

"  You  're  well  out  of  it,  dear." 

"  Except  for  the  money.  I  expect  I  '11  go  back 
to  it  as  soon  as  I  can.  I  had  a  contract  for  a  year 
'. —  they  wanted  the  option  of  renewing  for  another 
year." 

"  They  were  to  have  the  option?  " 

"  Yes  —  all  on  their  side ;  I  did  n't  think  it  was 
good  enough  to  sign  that.  So  I  said  I  'd  like  to, 
but  I  was  going  to  be  married  at  the  end  of  the 
summer." 

"  You  were  n't  really?  " 

"Not  much!  No  marriage  for  me  —  not  in 
the  Profession  anyhow !  —  but  lots  of  them  think 
SI  contract  does  n't  bind  you  any  more  if  you  marry. 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  219 

LU  Rayburn  put  me  up  to  that  dodge.  She  lent 
me  her  song  when  the  Tarantelles  wanted  me  — 
it  was  a  great  concession :  her  big  success !  When- 
ever she  does  n't  want  to  sign  an  option  and  is 
afraid  to  refuse  point-blank,  she  looks  bashful  and 
says  she  's  going  to  be  married  at  the  end  of  the 
summer.  She  has  been  going  to  be  married  '  at 
the  end  of  the  summer '  for  the  last  nine  years !  " 
They  turned  to  the  fire,  and  lit  cigarettes  — 
Rosalind's ;  she  had  remembered  to  put  a  hundred 
in  her  trunk. 

"  *  What  is  the  use  of  loving  a  girl 
If  the  girl  don't  love  you?  '  " 

hummed  Tattie.     The  song  was  just  published. 
"  They  are  fine  cigarettes  I 

*  What  is  the  use  of  loving  a  girl 
When  you  know  she  don't  want  yer  to?  * 

Of  course,  you  have  the  best  of  everything  now. 
It  does  seem  curious." 

"  My  having  the  best  of  everything?  ** 

"  No,  your  wanting  the  worst. 

*  What  if  she  's  fair  beyond  all  compare, 
And  what  if  her  eyes  are  blue ' 


220  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

Fancy  living  in  your  style,  and  coming  to  rooms 
like  these  for  fun  I  " 

"  Oh,  Tattie,"  said  Rosalind,  "  that 's  just  what 
I  did  come  for  I    I  have  n't  any  fun  at  home." 

"  But  I  thought  in  Society  they  had  no  end  of 
a  good  time?  " 

"  So  they  do.  In  a  way,  but  it 's  the  wrong  way 
for  me  —  I  never  rehearsed  for  it,  I  'm  not  easy 
in  the  part ;  I  was  n't  meant  for  high-class  comedy. 
And  I  miss  you  —  I  've  no  pal  now." 

"  /  've  missed  you,  I  can  tell  you  I  Oh,  the 
tour  after  you  left,  was  n't  that  damn  dull  1  The 
girl  I  lived  with  was  so  '  off  '  —  common.  Well, 
you  can  tell  I'm  a.  perfect  lady — I  just  said 
'  damn  '  —  but  I  used  n't  to,  did  I?  Remember? 
Good-hearted  girl,  but  she  was  so  horrid  at  table. 
And  under  that  silk  blouse  —  all  anyhow !  Not 
that  I  like  to  see  a  girl  with  too  smart  underlinen, 
I  always  think  it  looks  fishy;  but  hers  was  —  well, 
if  she  had  been  run  over  one  day  when  we  were 
out,  I  'd  have  been  ashamed  to  own  her  I  " 

"  Let 's  go  and  look  up  some  of  the  Company, 
shall  we?"  said  Rosalind.  "What  name  had 
I  better  have?  " 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  221 

"What's  the  matter  with  'Heath?'  There 
are  plenty  of  '  Miss  Heaths  '  about." 

"  Yes,  but  you  're  sure  to  let  the  '  Rosalind ' 
slip,  and  that  will  give  me  away.  Introduce  me  as 
*  Miss  Daintree.'  Do  you  know  where  any  of  the 
women  are  staying?" 

"  We  '11  find  them  on  the  pier.  We  always 
make  for  the  pier  on  Sunday  evenings  when  there  's 
a  concert;  it 's  something  to  do.  I  suppose  I  'm 
to  say  you  're  in  the  Profession?  " 

"  I  'm  an  actress  out  of  an  engagement,"  as- 
sented Rosalind,  throwing  her  cigarette  in  the 
fender.    "  Make  haste,  or  we  shall  be  too  late !  " 

The  boards  of  Little  Miss  Kiss-and-Tell  were 
big  outside  the  pier.  At  the  turnstile  Miss  Las- 
celles  nodded  towards  them,  saying,  "  In  the  Com- 
pany." The  man  answered,  "All  right,  Miss; 
come  in  through  the  gate,  then."  At  the  pay-box 
of  the  theatre  she  showed  her  card,  saying,  "  Can 
you  oblige  me  with  a  couple  of  seats?  "  The  busi- 
ness manager  answered,  "  With  pleasure,  my 
dear." 

The  gas-stoves  glowed  redly,  and  the  theatre 
was  much  better  warmed  than  the  majority  of 


222  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

theatres  in  London.  They  sat  down  in  the  third 
row  of  the  stalls,  and  listened  to  a  dispirited 
soprano  who  was  supposed  to  be  singing  "  The 
Holy  City."  She  was  not  really  singing  "  The 
Holy  City;"  from  beginning  to  end  she  articu- 
lated not  a  word  save  *'  Jerusalem."  She  simply 
kept  her  mouth  ajar  and  wailed  the  air;  but  she 
was  successful. 

There  were  only  about  twenty  people  in  the 
crimson  velvet  seats,  and  most  of  these  were  Kiss- 
and-Tell  people.  The  others  were  very  young 
men,  in  caps,  who  bore  the  sacred  music  on  Sun- 
day evening  for  the  sake  of  an  advance  view  of  the 
girls  who  were  to  perform  on  Monday.  The  very 
young  men  watched  the  arrivals  with  much  inter- 
est, and  if  the  ladies  in  the  stalls  were  unattrac- 
tive, it  was  said  in  a  Blithepoint  club  on  Sunday 
night  that  the  piece  on  the  pier  to-morrow  was  no 
good. 

When  the  dispirited  soprano  had  finished,  the 
actresses  applauded  her  warmly,  in  the  hope  of 
cheering  her  up ;  and  the  sixpenny  balcony  rattled 
its  umbrellas,  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  song  more 
than  it  had  paid  for.     Then  one  of  the  actresses 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  323 

murmured  to  Miss  Lascelles,  "  How  badly  she 
holds  herself,  doesn't  she?"  and  Miss  Lascelles 
presented  "  Miss  Daintree." 

Rosalind  soon  discovered  that  nobody  was  san- 
guine of  Little  Miss  Kiss-and-Tell  being  well  re- 
ceived, and  —  having  forgotten  something  of  the 
world  she  was  revisiting  —  it  surprised  her  to  note 
the  light-heartedness  of  the  professionals,  who  tot- 
tered on  the  brink  of  disaster.  They  were  all  piti- 
ably poor,  they  were  likely  to  fall  out  of  employ- 
ment at  the  worst  time  of  year;  but  they  said 
gaily,  "  Oh  well,  let 's  hope  for  the  best!  It  may 
be  all  right  at  night.  It 's  no  use  looking  on  the 
black  side  of  things."  And  most  of  them  were 
totally  dependent  on  their  salaries,  though  that 
was  not  the  belief  of  the  very  young  men  who 
endured  "  The  Holy  City." 

Only  Miss  Jinman,  a  large,  elderly  lady  who 
spoke  in  a  bass  voice,  was  pessimistic.  Years  ago 
she  had  sung  in  parts  of  dignity,  and  hectored  first- 
rate  touring  companies;  to-day  she  was  engaged 
for  an  amorous  old  woman  in  Turkish  trousers, 
whom  the  low  comedian  was  to  pelt  with  insults  as 
often  as  she  came  on  the  stage. 


224  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  I  don't  think  the  piece  will  last  a  month,"  she 
said  to  Rosalind,  in  her  lugubrious  bass.  "  It 
is  n't  amusing  at  all.  Vulgar,  very  vulgar  1  I  may 
be  too  critical ;  I  'm  used  to  such  high-class  things, 
as  you  know  —  my  notices  as  '  Buttercup '  were 
immense  —  but  I  call  it  a  '  rotter.'  I  see  a  frost,  a 
killing  frost,  my  dear !  I  keep  my  opinion  to  my- 
self "  —  she  was  disseminating  it  with  gusto  —  "I 
don't  want  to  give  the  others  the  hump,  but  I  see 
us  all  out  of  a  shop  till  the  spring  comes." 

"  Oh,  you  're  always  croaking.  Miss  Jinman," 
snapped  a  black-eyed  girl  with  golden  hair.  *'  Give 
us  a  chance,  dol  " 

"A  chance?"  returned  Miss  Jinman  heavily. 
"  Chit,  you  have  no  chance.  It 's  only  kindness  to 
tell  you  so." 

"  Thanks  for  being  so  kind  I  "  said  the  girl. 
She  had  not  been  long  on  the  stage.  Her  married 
sister  kept  "  Dining  Rooms  "  In  Holloway,  and 
less  than  a  year  ago  the  "  artiste  "  had  served  as 
waitress  there  and  been  ordered  to  "  'Urry  up  with 
that  there  Yorkshire-pudden." 

"  You  will  never  do  any  better  than  you  're 
doing,"  afHrmed  Miss  Jinman.    "  And  I  could  say 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  225 

as  much  to  others  present  if  I  hadn't  too  much 
consideration  for  their  feelings.  To  more  than 
one!"  she  added  significantly.  "Look,  at  me, 
with  all  my  experience  1  And  /  am  clever,  and  / 
can  sing ;  my  notices  as  *  Buttercup  '  were  im- 
mense. And  where  am  I  now?  On  a  pier  with 
amateurs  —  amateurs  and  novices.  I  don't  know 
what  the  Profession  is  coming  to  —  it 's  a  very 
different  thing  to  what  it  was  when  /  was  in  my 


prime 


"  I  expect  most  things  have  woke  up  a  bit  since 
then,"  said  the  golden-haired  brunette;  "the 
bringing  in  of  railways  must  have  made  such  a 
difference." 

"  Small-part  people  were  taught  to  respect  the 
principals,"  said  Miss  Jinman  sternly.  "  Minxes 
kept  their  places." 

"  It 's  a  pity  you  could  n't  keep  yours,"  said  the 
dark  one  with  the  golden  locks.  But  harmony  was 
restored  during  the  next  selection  by  the  band. 

There  was  a  little  sleet  blowing  when  the  audi- 
ence straggled  homeward.  The  lights  of  the 
Belle  Vue  Hotel  were  not  put  out  yet,  and  care- 
lessly. Miss  Jinman  observed  that  the  people  in- 


226  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

side  must  be  warmer  than  she  was.  Rosalind  took 
the  hint.  It  is  only  in  the  lowest  ranks  of  the  the- 
atrical profession  that  the  ladies  refresh  them- 
selves in  bars;  a  second-rate  provincial  actress 
would  wither  the  person  who  invited  her;  but  Miss 
Jinman  and  Miss  Lascelles  had  adapted  their 
manners  to  their  company,  and  it  was  a  very 
humble  Company  indeed.  So  they  went  into  the 
Lounge,  and  sat  down. 

Another  professional  lady  came  in,  and  inquired 
generously,  "  Are  you  drinking,  girls?  " 

Miss  Lascelles   said,    "  Yes,   we  've  got  port 


wine." 


"  Serve  you  right,"  said  the  other  lady,  with  a 
pretty  wit. 

Though  she  was  on  the  high  road  to  Prague, 
Lady  Darlington  was  relieved  to  see  that  the  clock 
pointed  to  five  minutes  to  ten.  When  the  Lounge 
closed,  the  party  shook  hands  with  her  heartily, 
and  hoped  they  would  meet  her  again  in  the  morn- 
ing. Distressingly  ill-bred  of  them  to  drink  port 
in  a  smoky  bar  —  not  at  all  the  sort  of  thing  I 
can  ask  you  to  condone.  But  some  of  the  sirens 
.who  had  lolled  in  velvet  fauteuils  were  financing 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  227 

on  coppers  until  the  first  week's  treasury  was  paid, 
and  tea  and  bread-and-butter  was  all  they  had  had 
to  support  their  internal  economies  during  the 
day.  How  amused  the  very  young  men  in  the 
stalls  would  be  at  my  simphcity  in  believing  it  I 


CHAPTER   XIV 

Since  the  last  chapter  went  away  to  be  type- 
written I,  myself,  have  been  in  the  theatre  on 
Blithepoint  Pier.  A  pantomime  was  being  per- 
formed. The  seat  I  was  in  yielded  me  a  view  of 
more  than  I  had  paid  to  look  at;  I  could  see  the 
Prompt  entrance,  which  is  the  place  where  they 
signal  for  the  sunset  and  the  moonbeams  and 
where  the  players  come  to  peep  at  the  doings  on 
the  stage.  Last  night  a  young  woman  came  there. 
She  wore  a  brief,  blue  skirt,  and  a  silver  crown, 
and  for  the  nonce  an  unlovely  wrap  hung  over  her 
whitened  back  and  bosom,  since  you  may  get  rheu- 
matism in  the  Prompt  entrance,  as  well  as  moon- 
beams. Before  the  footlights  two  comic  men  were 
bawling  a  duet;  I  knew  they  were  comic  because 
they  had  made  their  faces  so  repulsive;  and  the 
spirit  moving  her,  the  woman  broke  into  lazy 
dance  steps  to  the  refrain.  In  the  glare,  and  the 
distance  she  was  pretty.  As  I  watched,  I  felt  in- 
stinctively for  the  hand  of  Rosalind;   I  knew  the 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  229 

craving  that  was  in  her  blood,  and  turned  to  meet 
her  gaze.  If  she  had  been  there,  I  think  she  would 
have  liked  me.  I  said,  "  Those  who  saw  that 
would  understand  Rosalind;  the  tawdry  figure 
dancing  in  the  draught  says  everything!  "  That 
was  why  I  brought  the  picture  at  home,  to  show  it 
to  you  .  .  .  but  somehow,  all  at  once,  I  doubt 
whether  you  will  understand  any  better  than  you 
did. 

However  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  on  the  mor- 
row Rosalind  accompanied  Tattie  Lascelles  to  a 
rehearsal  with  infinite  zest.  She  had  no  right  to 
accompany  her,  but  a  discussion  was  in  progress 
when  they  arrived,  and  she  passed  unchallenged. 
Mr.  Omee,  the  local  manager,  who  stood  in  the 
pit,  was  talking  to  Mr.  Quisby,  the  travelling  man- 
ager, who  stood  on  the  stage.  It  appeared  that 
owing  to  the  pressure  of  Christmas  traffic,  the 
railway  company  had  failed  to  dispatch  the 
scenery. 

"  Well,  but  who  has  been  to  the  station?  What 
do  they  say?  " 

"  I  tell  you  the  fools  at  this  end  don't  know 
anything  about  it." 


230  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

"What  the  bleak  Helvellyn 's  the  good  of 
bringing  the  piece  without  any  scenery?  " 

"  Is  n't  there  any  scenery  in  your  theatre?  " 

"  I  Ve  told  you  what  cloth  you  can  have,  my 
boy.    That 's  the  best  we  can  do." 

"  It 's  no  use  offering  us  Hyde  Park  Corner 
when  we  want  a  blooming  mosque!  .  .  .  Well, 
let 's  have  a  look  at  it !  " 

Mr.  Omee  shouted  for  "  Bates." 

There  was  a  lull,  and  then  from  unseen  heights 
a  voice  announced  that  Bates  had  just  "  stepped 
outside." 

Mr.  Omee  ramped  in  the  pit. 

The  shouts  for  "Bates"  were  resumed  —  the 
rafters  rang  with  the  name  of  "  Bates  "  —  and 
after  some  minutes  a  discomfited  working  man 
slouched  onto  the  stage,  to  be  received  with  a  vol- 
ley of  abuse.  He  was  understood  to  retort  that 
he  was  unable  to  be  in  two  places  at  once,  and 
parties  who  expected  it  might  find  someone  else 
to  do  the  work,  that  was  the  straight  tip.  Those 
nearest  to  him  also  learnt  that  he  had  a  poor  opin- 
ion of  the  job  at  its  blessed  best. 

"Let's   have   that   Hyde   Park   cloth,"   com- 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  23 1 

manded  Mr.  Omee.  **  Come  on,  look  alive,  man 
. —  hurry  up  I  " 

"  What  /  want  to  know,"  grunted  the  low 
comedian,  "  is  'ow  I  'm  to  get  that  wheeze  of 
mine  into  that  song.  That 's  what 's  bothering 
me. 

"  What  song?  "  inquired  Miss  Lascelles. 

"  What  song !  Why,  '  All  the  Winners.'  I  was 
going  to  say  the  Blithepoint  football  team  was  '  all 
the  winners  '  in  the  match  on  Saturday,  and  now 
I  'm  told  that  Sweetbay  beat  'em.  My  luck  again  I 
That  queers  my  wheeze." 

"  Why  not  say,"  suggested  Rosalind,  "  that  the 
next  time  Sweetbay  is  rash  enough  to  play  them, 
Blithepoint  will  be  all  the  winners?  " 

"  Wot  ho !  "  said  the  low  comedian,  brighten- 
ing. He  added  promptly,  "  Of  course  that 's  what 
I  was  thinking  of  doing!  But  I  must  see  if  I  can 
get  all  that  cackle  into  the  tune.  Where  's  the  con- 
ductor of  the  blooming  band?  " 

Presently  the  cloth  was  displayed.  It  was  no 
faithful  representation  of  Hyde  Park  Corner,  but 
it  was  still  less  like  a  mosque,  and  the  players  stood 
about,  and  sneered,  and  muttered  contemptuous 


232  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

criticisms.  Miss  Jinman  said  that  in  all  her  expe- 
rience she  had  never  known  such  disgraceful  mis- 
management before.  She  was  to  figure  in  her 
Turkish  trousers  in  this  scene,  and  she  pointed 
morosely  to  the  omnibuses  painted  outside  the 
hospital. 

"  Clear  the  stage,  please  I  "  cried  Mr.  Quisby. 
"  We  '11  just  run  through  Miss  Vavasour's  scenes. 
Come  on.  Miss  Vavasour  —  we  don't  want  to  be 
here  all  day!  "  He  told  her  this  indignantly,  as 
if  the  delay  in  lowering  the  cloth  were  directly  at- 
tributable to  her.  She  was  the  girl  who  had  been 
suddenly  promoted  to  the  leading  part. 

The  manager  of  the  theatre  lounged  from  the 
pit  into  the  stalls,  where  Rosalind  sat  now  too. 
He  chewed  his  cigar,  and  there  was  gloom  on  his 
face.  This  should  have  been  a  week  of  large  re- 
ceipts, but  the  outlook  was  unpromising. 

Miss  Vavasour  was  rendered  additionally  ner- 
vous by  the  fact  that  she  had  not  had  time  to  learn 
the  lines.  She  advanced  constrainedly,  and  said 
in  a  timid  voice  — 

"  *  We  are  alone  at  last  I    Oh  rapture  1 '  " 

"  Speak  up,  my  dearl  "  said  Mr.  Quisby.    "  Say 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  233 

It  as  If  you  meant  it.  '  Rapture ! '  Do  a  bit  of  a 
caper  there,  be  fetching!  " 

"  '  We  are  alone  at  last !  '  "  repeated  Miss  Vav- 
asour, with  a  mechanical  jump.    "  '  Oh  rapture  I  '  " 

"  Oh  rats !  "  said  the  manager  of  the  theatre. 
He  turned  to  Rosalind — "Can  she  sing?"  he 
asked. 

"  She  sings  even  better  than  she  acts,"  said 
Rosalind  innocently. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  groaned  the  manager.  "  Well, 
what  are  they  waiting  for  now?  " 

It  was  the  cue  for  an  embrace,  and  Miss  Vav- 
asour was  hanging  forward  to  be  clasped  in  the 
Tenor's  arms,  but  the  Tenor  had  a  request  to 
make  — 

"  Mr.  Quisby,"  he  said,  disregarding  her,  "  I 
think  it  would  be  better  if  somebody  read  my  part. 
I  don't  know  how  I  shall  get  through  to-night  as 
it  is  —  my  cold  is  so  severe." 

"  Oh,  my  sufferings !  "  muttered  the  manager 
of  the  theatre.  "  Now  the  Tenor 's  got  a 
cold.  This  is  going  to  be  a  great  draw,  this 
show  is !  " 

*'  Don't    you    think    you    could    just    '  walk 


234  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

through'  the  'business,'  my  boy?"  Mr.  Quisby 
asked.  "  The  girl 's  a  bit  uneasy  in  the  love  scenes 
—  she  '11  be  all  over  the  shop  to-night  if  she  don't 
know  what  you  're  going  to  do." 

"  I  am  really  very  ill,"  insisted  the  Tenor 
feebly;  "  I  'm  not  fit  to  rehearse,  I  ought  to  be 
in  bed." 

"  Oh,  all  right  then,"  answered  Mr.  Quisby. 
He  beckoned  to  the  prompter.  "  Here,  read  the 
lines  —  give  Miss  Vavasour  her  cues.  Do  get  on. 
Miss  Vavasour,  we  shall  be  in  the  theatre  till 
Doomsday  if  you  don't  wake  up  I  '  We  are  alone 
at  last '  —  go  back,  please." 

"  '  We  are  alone  at  last.  Oh  rapture ! '  "  fal- 
tered Miss  Vavasour  for  the  third  time,  with  the 
mechanical  jump. 

"  That 's  marked  '  Kiss,'  "  said  the  prompter. 
He  was  a  slovenly  man  with  a  dirty  face. 

"  I  know  it  is,"  snapped  Miss  Vavasour.  "  Do 
let 's  get  to  the  next  line  I  " 

"  I  was  'elping  yer,"  said  the  prompter,  ag- 
grieved. "  If  yer  don't  want  no  'elp,  sye  so  I  " 
He  read,  "  *  My  Prize  I     My  Pearlikins  I '  " 

"  '  Sometimes,'  "  continued  Miss  Vavasour,  sim- 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  235 

ulating  maiden  modesty.  "  '  I  wonder  if  it 's  all 
a  dream.  Why  do  you  love  me  ?  You  might  have 
married  Delicia,  who  has  millions  —  /  am  a  very 
poor  girl.'  " 

"  You  're  a  very  poor  actress  too,"  said  Mr. 
Omee  under  his  breath. 

"  '  Why  do  I  love  yer,  sweetheart?  '  "  mumbled 
the  prompter.  "  '  Your  question  reminds  me  of 
what  the  apple-blossom  said  to  the  moon.'  " 

"  Band  cue !  "  shouted  Mr.  Quisby.  "  Have 
you  got  that,  there  in  the  orchestra  ?  — '  The 
Apple-blossom  and  the  Moon,'  song  I  Go  on, 
Mr.  —  er  —  Song  over.  Get  on  with  the 
lines." 

"  Excuse  me !  "  exclaimed  the  Tenor,  reappear- 
ing. "  That 's  a  cue  for  the  limelight.  I  don't 
think  it  has  been  marked;  I  didn't  get  it  at  the 
dress  rehearsal." 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  marked,"  declared  the  prompter; 
"  /  marked  it."  He  referred  resentfully  to  the 
typescript.  "  '  Moonlight '  I  There  it  is,  in  its 
proper  plice." 

"  Its  proper  place  is  on  me"  said  the  Tenor. 

"  Well,  we  '11  see  it 's  all  right  to-night,"  said 


236  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

Mr.  Quisby,  with  impatience.  "  If  you  're  so  ill, 
you  had  better  get  home  and  rest  your  voice, 
hadn't  you?" 

"  I  should  be  only  too  glad  to  be  at  home,"  re- 
joined the  Tenor  stiffly.  "  I  just  called  attention 
to  the  matter  for  the  sake  of  the  scene.  ...  In- 
terests of  the  Show  at  heart !  " 

"  Where  do  I  speak  from  now,  Mr.  Quisby?  " 
murmured  Miss  Vavasour. 

"  You  're  on  the  balcony,  my  dear  —  up  left. 
*  And  now  ta-ta,  my  Romeo  '  I  Get  on  with  it, 
get  on  1  " 

"One  moment.  Miss  Vavasour  I"  put  in  the 
Tenor,  coming  back.  "  You  must  n't  speak  too 
soon,  there;  I  expect  an  encore!  Take  your  cue 
from  me." 

She  nodded  helplessly.  "  '  And  now  ta-ta,  my 
Romeo.'  " 

"  *  'T  is  not  the  nightingale,  let 's  have  a 
larkl'"  read  the  prompter.  "'Come  out  to 
supper  I 

*  For  thou  art  as  glorious  to  this  night,  being 
o'er  my  'ead '  " 

"  Come  to  cues  I  "  said  Mr.  Quisby,  stamping. 


CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH  23% 

"  *  When  'e  bestrides  the  liezy-pieclng  clouds, 
And  siles  upon  the  bosom  of  the  air,'  " 

gabbled  the  prompter. 

"  '  Bosom  of  the  air '  I  "  bellowed  Mr.  Quisby. 
"  Pick  up  your  cues,  Miss  Vavasour,  for  Gawd's 
sake  I" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  did  n't  hear  it,  Mr. 
Quisby,"  she  stammered. 

**  Well,  then,  listen,  my  girl  I  What  do  you  sup- 
pose we're  here  for?  'Bosom  of  the  air'  — 
caper  down  centre.  Lightly  —  lightly/  Great 
Scotl  not  like  that.  You  come  down  like  a  sack 
o'  coals." 

"  The  girl  has  no  experience,"  remarked  Miss 
Jinman  in  a  deep  undertone  to  all  about  her. 

"  Go  back,"  shouted  Mr.  Quisby.  "  '  Bosom  of 
the  air,'  now  again  I  What  have  you  to  say  as  you 
run  down?  " 

"  I  forget,"  she  whimpered. 

"  What 's  the  line,  Mr.  —  er  —  you?  '* 

"I  —  I  'm  just  looking  to  see,"  said  the 
prompter. 

"Looking  to  see?"  yelled  Mr.  Quisby,  furi- 
ously, throwing  up  his  arms.    "  Upon  my  life  and 


2^8  CONRAD   IN    QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

soul  it 's  maddening  1  What 's  your  business,  what 
are  you  engaged  as,  what  is  it  you  're  supposed 
tO/be?     Are  you  the  prompter,  or  are  you  not? 

Good is  it  asking  too  much  of  a  man 

with  the  book  in  his  hand  to  follow  the  lines? 
I  Ve  got  the  whole  weight  of  the  production  on 
me,  I  Ve  done  the  work  of  twenty  men,  I  'm  wear- 
ing myself  out  —  and  nobody  takes  the  trouble  to 
study  a  part,  or  to  read  the  'scrip !  Ladies  and 
gentlemen,  the  ensanguined  rehearsal  is  dismissed, 
while  the  prompter  looks  for  the  line !  " 

"  '  Supper?  Oh,  it  will  be  a  merry  evening  1 '  " 
read  the  prompter,  sulkily. 

"  Very  well  then  I  Now,  Miss  Vavasour !  let 's 
have  it." 

"  I  think  it 's  v-v-very  hard  on  me,"  said  Miss 
Vavasour,  beginning  to  cry;  "  I  've  only  had  the 
p-part  three  days." 

"  Come,  come,  do  your  best  I  You  've  nothing 
to  cry  about,  I  've  been  very  patient  with  you. 
'  Supper  ?  Oh,  it  will  be  a  merry  evening ! '  Trip 
down  pretty;  speak  as  you  come." 

"  Fery  hard  on  me,"  she  sobbed;  "  I  think  it 's 
m-m-most  unfeeling  I  " 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  23gf 

"  Bring  me  a  chair!  "  called  Mr.  Quisby  to  no 
one  in  particular.  "  Look  here,  my  girl,  I  'm 
going  to  see  you  do  It  if  we  have  to  stop  on  the 
stage  till  the  doors  open.  Understand?  If  I 
keep  you  here  till  the  curtain  rises,  I  '11  see  you 
do  it  I  '  Bosom  of  the  air  I '  Now  take  it  up 
sharp." 

"  A  bit  of  all  right,  keeping  the  Company  'ere 
to  see  a  novice  taught  her  business,  I  don't  think," 
grumbled  the  low  comedian. 

Miss  Vavasour,  still  sobbing,  drooped  to  where 
the  balcony  was  to  be  imagined.  She  sniffed 
violently,  and,  with  an  effort  at  sprightly  grace, 
scuttled  down  the  stage  again. 

"  '  Supper?  Oh,  it  will  be  a  merry  evening  I '  " 
she  quavered. 

*'  It  '11  be  a  merry  evening  to-morrow  —  about 
sixpence  in  the  house!  "  growled  the  manager  of 
the  theatre.  He  caught  Rosalind's  eye.  "  Are 
the  rest  of  you  as  good  as  this,  my  dear?  "  he  said 
bitterly. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  cheerful  Rosalind,  "  I  think 
you '11  like  us  all!" 

Presently  Miss  Lascelles  wanted  to  see  where 


240  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

she  was  to  dress,  and  with  a  heartful  of  memories 
Rosalind  explored  with  her.  The  pencilled  lists 
of  names  on  most  of  the  doors  were  lengthy,  but 
Miss  Lascelles  was  to  share  a  room  with  no  one 
but  Miss  Vavasour  this  week,  so  she  was  jubilant, 
and  had  been  in  no  hurry  to  annex  a  gas-burner. 
As  a  rule  the  ladies  scamper  on  Monday  morning 
to  secure  the  best  places. 

The  room  was  very  comfortably  furnished. 

"  Oh  my!  "  said  Miss  Lascelles,  enraptured. 

"Oh  dear!"  said  Lady  Darlington,  disap- 
pointed. "Why,  there's  a  full  length  mirror! 
Where  's  the  single  washstand  for  five  people  ? 
Where  's  the  one  chair,  broken  ?  Why,  you  've 
got  two  rugs !    This  is  a  blow,  Tattie !  " 

Miss  Lascelles  was  doing  coon  steps  before  the 
mirror.  "  Is  the  rehearsal  hateful  enough  for 
you?" 

"  It 's  a  dream  of  delight,"  said  Rosalind. 

But  even  she  was  rather  tired  of  it  when  it  fin- 
ished at  five  o'clock. 

It  was  nearly  half-past  five  when  they  reached 
their  lodging,  and  they  were  glad  to  hear  from 
Mrs.  Cheney  that  "  the  kittle  was  on  the  bile." 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  24I 

At  a  quarter  to  seven  Miss  Lascellcs  had  to  hurry- 
to  the  theatre  again. 

Rosalind  went  later.  The  wind  had  risen,  and 
on  the  pier  she  had  to  fight  against  it.  The  lamps 
streaked  a  heaving  sea.  The  little  wooden  theatre 
was  fairly  full,  and  a  few  Christmas  trippers  in 
the  balcony  were  comporting  themselves  with  less 
decorum  than  prevails  in  Blithepoint  as  a  rule. 
Knowing  what  she  knew  of  affairs  behind  the  cur- 
tain, Rosalind  heard  the  whistles  with  misgiving. 
She  feared  that  if  the  whistlers  found  the  enter- 
tainment meagre,  they  were  likely  to  create  enter- 
tainment for  themselves. 

However,  they  listened  to  the  opening  chorus 
with  polite  attention.  It  was  surprising  how  at- 
tractive many  of  the  chorus  ladies  had  become. 
They  represented  the  seamen  of  the  Battleship 
Deadly  Oyster,  and  wore  sailors'  jackets  and 
trousers  made  of  silk  —  or  a  material  that 
passed  for  it.  Some  of  the  seamen  also  wore 
paste  necklaces.  They  sang  that  there  was 
"  No  life  so  jolly  as  Jack's,"  and  when  one 
watched  their  saucy  gambols,  and  remembered 
that  they  were  actually  paid  to  be  there,  it  looked 


242  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS   YOUTH 

ts  if  there  could  be  no  life  so  jolly  as  a  chorus 
girl's. 

As  it  happened,  the  first  to  provoke  dissatisfac- 
tion was  the  Tenor.  He  had  been  refused  permis- 
sion to  beg  indulgence  for  his  cold,  but  resolving 
that  the  Audience  should  understand  that  they 
were  not  hearing  him  to  advantage,  he  kept  laying 
his  hand  on  his  chest,  with  an  air  of  suffering.  It 
made  him  a  depressing  figure;  and  when  he  ex- 
claimed, "'Beware,  my  temper's  hoti'"  a  hu- 
mourist in  the  balcony  cried,  "  How 's  your 
poultice?" 

A  man  in  the  pit  said  "Hush!"  but  several 
persons  giggled,  and  the  humourist  was  stimulated 
to  further  witticisms.  Other  humourists  began  to 
envy  him  his  successes;  as  the  piece  proceeded, 
the  interruptions  were  frequent.  Once  the  low 
comedian  attempted  a  repartee,  but  it  came  too 
late  in  the  evening  to  turn  the  scale;  the  mal- 
contents had  grown  spiteful,  and  as  a  rejoinder  he 
was  hissed.  His  companions  stared  at  one  an- 
other haggardly.  "  Behind,"  they  stood  quaking, 
dreading  the  cues  that  would  recall  them  to  the 
stage. 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  243 

At  every  exit  they  came  off  gasping,  "  The 
brutes !  the  pigs !    Oh,  what  a  wicked  house  it  is !  " 

The  "  house  "  would  have  been  astonished  at 
the  emotion  displayed,  at  the  "  extraordinary 
sensitiveness  of  such  people."  To  the  Stalls  there 
were  *'  Just  a  few  noisy  young  fellows  upstairs 
who  made  jokes."  Indeed  it  seemed  a  long  time 
between  the  jokes  to  the  Stalls ;  they  wore  an  air  of 
superior  detachment,  but  they  were  secretly  amused. 
Only  Rosalind  understood.     Rosalind  felt  faint. 

Miss  Lascelles  had  been  accepted  by  the  Bal- 
cony while  they  were  still  good  humoured,  and  she 
was  among  those  who  escaped  contumely;  but  Miss 
JInman's  record  availed  her  little.  Derisive  cheers 
greeted  her  every  entrance,  and  a  lifetime  on  the 
boards  could  not  save  her  from  the  sickness  of 
the  senses  which  attacks  a  player  who  is  being 
"  guyed."  As  for  Miss  Vavasour,  she  trembled 
as  if  she  had  ague  when  a  youth  mimicked  her 
high  notes  in  her  solo,  and  on  her  bloodless  face, 
while  she  sang,  the  make-up  stood  out  in  patches, 
like  paint  on  the  cheeks  of  a  corpse.  At  the  con- 
clusion of  the  song  she  clung  hysterically  to  Tattie 
Lascelles  in  the  wings. 


244  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH 

When  the  end  was  reached,  the  Audience  rose 
murmuring  that  it  was  a  "  silly  piece,"  and  "  not 
worth  going  to  "  —  they  "  should  n't  think  it 
would  be  a  success  1  "  No  one  but  Rosalind  sus- 
pected the  despair  that  was  hidden  by  the  curtain. 

She  made  her  way  to  the  stage-door.  Tedious 
as  the  performance  had  been,  a  number  of  young 
men  had  preceded  her,  and  were  assembling  to 
address  the  chorus  ladies  when  they  came  out. 
(Thirty  were  waiting  there  that  night  when  the 
Chorus  came  out  at  last.)  An  old  woman  —  a 
dresser  —  was  hurrying  in  with  two  glasses  con- 
taining whisky  from  the  refreshment  room.  One 
of  the  young  men  asked  her  jauntily  if  she  would 
take  a  message  for  him  to  "  the  sixth  girl  on 
the  right."  She  said  she  was  in  a  hurry,  and 
pushed  the  door  open.  As  the  door-keeper  was  n't 
there,  to  be  obstructive,  Rosalind  followed  her 
inside. 

Many  of  the  players  were  in  the  flaring  passage. 
They  had  not  begun  to  doff  their  costumes  yet; 
they  were  lingering  in  groups,  a  tinselled,  nerve- 
less crowd  with  harassed  eyes.  Miss  Vavasour 
sat  crying  on  a  clothes  hamper;   Miss  Jinman  was 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  245 

wait'jig  weakly  for  her  whisky.  As  it  appeared, 
her  gaze  fell  on  the  huddled  girl;  "  Here,  have 
half  of  this,  child  I  "  she  said  gently.  The  bru- 
nette with  golden  hair  exclaimed,  "  No,  no,  take 
yours.  Miss  Jinman;  Queenie  can  have  half  of 
mine  I  "  Everybody  kept  casting  anxious  glances 
in  the  direction  of  the  stage,  where  voices  could  be 
heard  disputing. 

"  Poor  old  Tatl  "  murmured  Rosalind. 

Now  Miss  Lascelles,  as  we  know,  had  had  less 
than  the  majority  to  unhinge  her,  but  so  infectious 
was  the  atmosphere,  so  easily  swayed  are  some  of 
these  "  extraordinarily  sensitive  "  people  of  the 
theatre,  that  as  Rosalind's  arm  was  slipped  round 
her  waist,  she  immediately  burst  into  tears,  and 
sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"  Cheer  up,"  said  Rosahnd.  "  It  '11  go  all  right 
after  a  few  more  rehearsals." 

"  I  shall  be  b-better  directly,"  gulped  Miss 
Lascelles.  "  D-don't  mind  me.  I  'm  a  fool,  but 
I  can't  help  It;   I  'm  broke  up!  " 

"  We  're  all  of  us  broke  up,"  groaned  Miss 
Jinman.  "  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  house  as  it 
was?    In  all  my  experience  I  never  saw  anything 


246  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

like  it  I  What  were  they  saying  as  they  came  out  ? 
Do  you  think  we  shall  go  on,  my  dear?  " 

"  /  sha'n't  be  kept,  anyhow,"  wailed  Miss  Vava- 
sour. "  Mr.  Quisby  's  been  bullying  me  as  if  it 
was  all  my  fault.  I  shall  be  out  of  a  shop  again  I 
And  I  did  hope  1  was  settled  till  the  spring  —  I 
don't  know  what  I  shall  do,  I  'm  sure!  " 

"Where  is  he?"  inquired  Rosalind. 

"  That 's  him,  quarrelling  with  Mr.  Omee 
there,"  said  Miss  Lascelles.  "  Mr.  Omee  says 
he  won't  let  the  piece  go  on  to-morrow  night." 

"Not  go  on?" 

"  They  say  he  says  so,"  put  in  the  demi-blonde. 
"  That 's  all  gas  —  he  'd  have  to  shut  the  theatre; 
he  won't  do  that." 

"  If  you  ask  w^,"  said  the  low  comedian,  taking 
part  in  the  conference  gloomily,  "  it  puts  the  ky- 
bosh  on  the  tour.  We  may  as  well  pack  up  our 
props,  and  git.  There  's  no  good  health  for  Miss 
Kiss-and-Tell  after  to-night's  show." 

"  Git?  "  demanded  Miss  Jinman,  "  Git  where? 
I  shall  have  my  rights;    I  've  got  a  contract." 

"  Take  it  to  your  Uncle's  I  "  said  the  low  come- 
dian.    "  See  what  he  '11  lend  you  on  it.     If  you 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  347 

ask  mey  the  Syndicate  's  a  wrong  'un.  If  we  strike 
it  lucky,  we  '11  get  our  fares ;  and  if  we  don't 
strike  it  lucky,  we  can  travel  on  our  luggage.  I  see 
it  sticking  out  a  foot  I  " 

A  shudder  ran  through  the  players.  They  gath- 
ered about  him  dumbly. 

"  We  can  all  claim  a  fortnight's  salary  in  lieu 
of  notice,"  asserted  Miss  Jinman,  rallying. 
"That's  the  Law.  It's  the  Rule  of  the 
Profession." 

The  company  perked  up  a  little.  They  turned 
their  eyes  to  Miss  Jinman. 

"  So  I  've  been  led  to  believe,"  said  the  low 
comedian.  "  And  in  such  circs  the  pros  always 
get  it,  I  don't  think!  Claim?  Oh,  we  can  claim  I 
We  '11  all  get  fat  claiming,  won't  we  ?  You  're 
better  off  to  claim  from  the  Post  Office  than  from 
a  Syndicate  —  at  all  events  you  do  know  where 
St.  Martin's  le  Grand  is.'' 

The  company  collapsed. 

"  The  long  and  the  short  of  it,"  he  continued, 
"  Is  that  we  're  out  with  a  stumour  of  a  piece. 
PFhy  did  n't  it  go  ?  Is  there  anything  wrong  with 
usf    No!    a  jolly  clever  crowd,  if  you  ask  me. 


248  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

The  piece  has  got  no  stamina  —  "  "  stamina  "  was 
not  the  word  he  used  —  "  that 's  what 's  the  mat- 
ter; and  that  'lyde  Park  Corner  cloth  settled  us. 
I  '11  lay  anyone  'ere  ten  to  one  that  the  tour  dries 
up,  and  the  Syndicate  does  a  guy.   'Oo  's  Quisby?  " 

"  Quisby?"  they  gasped.    '"Who  's  Quisby?'" 

"Quisby!"  repeated  the  low  comedian  em- 
phatically; "  I  say,  'Oo  's  Quisby?  I  '11  lay  any- 
body 'ere  ten  to  one  that  Quisby  calls  us  to-morrow 
to  say  he  ain't  responsible.  Now?  I  wish  all 
Syndicates  were  in  'ell." 

The  dispute  between  the  powers  had  ended, 
and  suddenly  the  prompter's  voice  rang  through 
the  passage.  He  bawled,  "  Everybody  on  the 
stige,  please!  Principals  and  Chorus  are  wanted 
on  the  stige !  " 

The  eyes  met  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  play- 
ers trooped  away,  with  sinking  hearts.  The  cold, 
bare  stage  was  in  shadow,  for  the  floats  and 
battens  had  been  extinguished,  and  the  only  light 
was  shed  by  a  single  burner  of  the  T-piece.  By 
the  T-piece  Mr.  Quisby  stood,  his  back  to  the 
dark  emptiness  of  the  auditorium.  The  prompter 
was  still  heard  calling  in  the  distance;  — 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  249 

"  Everybody  on  the  stige,  please !  Principals 
and  Chorus  on  the  stige  I  " 

Shivering,  they  flocked  there,  some  In  their 
plumes  and  spangles,  others  already  in  their 
shabby  street  clothes;  many  were  in  a  state  of 
transition  —  the  faces  daubed  with  grease,  the 
undergarments  and  naked  necks  revealed  by  hasty 
ulsters.  Nobody  spoke.  When  the  last  comer 
had  scrambled  to  the  crowd,  all  looked  at  Mr. 
Quisby.  The  suspense  that  held  them  mute  was 
pitiable. 

Outside,  the  thirty  young  men  had  collected  to 
accost  the  merry  chorus  girls. 

"  Ladles  and  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Quisby, 
"  there  will  be  no  performance  to-morrow."  He 
forced  a  hearty  air.  "  I  'm  going  to  talk  to  you 
like  a  pal.  Things  look  a  bit  rocky,  but  we  must 
hope  for  the  best.  I  won't  disguise  from  you  that 
there  may  be  no  tour.  Now  you  all  know  as  much 
as  /  do  —  there  may  be  no  tour.  Whether  there 
is,  or  not,  I  've  no  doubt  we  shall  all  get  what 's 
due  to  us.  I  hope  we  shall,  I  'm  sure  —  God 
knows  /  can't  afford  to  lose  what  they  owe  me  I  " 
He  made  a  slight  pause,  to  let  this  sink.     "  As 


250  CONRAD   IN    QUEST  OF    HIS   YOUTH 

soon  as  I  hear  from  London  what  the  Manage- 
ment intends  to  do,  we  '11  put  our  heads  together 
again.  You  worked  nobly  to-night,  nobly  —  one 
and  all  I  Some  of  you  ought  to  be  in  London,  get- 
ting your  thirty,  and  forty,  quid  a  week  I  If  the 
thing  's  a  frost,  it  won't  be  the  fault  of  the  artists, 
and  I  mean  to  let  the  Management  know  it!  " 

"What  Management?"  cried  the  low  come- 
dian. "  'Ave  you  left  off  being  manager  all  of  a 
sudden?  " 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  as  you  're  all  aware, 
the  Management  is  a  Syndicate,"  Mr.  Quisby  pro- 
ceeded with  difficulty.  "  If  this  was  my  crowd,  I 
should  talk  very  different.  Do  you  know  what  I 
should  say  if  this  was  my  crowd?  I  should  say, 
'  Between  you  and  I,  I  'm  a  bit  doubtful  of  the 
piece  —  that 's  straight  I  —  but  I  've  got  a  first- 
class  company  of  artists,  and  by  George  I  mean  to 
keep  'em  I '  I  should  say,  '  If  I  can't  pull  this 
piece  together,  then  I  '11  cast  the  whole  blessed 
crowd  for  another  I '  That 's  what  I  should  say 
if  /  was  manager.  But  I  'm  not.  No,  I  'm  one  of 
you.  We  're  all  in  the  same  boat.  I  'm  engaged 
at  a  salary,  like  yourselves.    Still  "  —  he  smeared 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  25 1 

the  perspiration  round  his  lying  lips  —  "  still  It 's 
always  darkest  before  dawn.  There  's  a  silver 
lining  to  every  cloud,  and  we  may  find  as  good  fish 
In  the  sea  as  ever  came  out  of  it.  Mr.  Omee  won't 
have  the  piece,  and  —  er  —  you  're  all  to  clear 
your  props  out  of  the  theatre  first  thing  in  the 
morning;  but  there  are  plenty  of  other  theatres 
in  the  kingdom !  We  must  stick  together.  Where 
there  's  a  will,  there  's  a  way !  We  must  stick 
together,  like  Englishmen  in  the  hour  of  trouble 
all  the  world  over,  and  —  er,  er  —  be  loyal  to 
the  show !  Ladies  and  gentlemen  —  Boys  and 
girls  1  —  Mr.  Omee  Is  waiting  to  see  me  In  his 
office.    That 'sail." 

"  Well,  he  could  n't  have  spoken  any  fairer," 
many  of  the  poor,  wretched  women  said  to  one 
another  as  they  lagged  through  the  forsaken 
streets. 


CHAPTER   XV 

Indeed  it  was  Mr.  Omee  whom  the  Company 
censured  —  Mr.  Omee  who  had  been  inhuman 
enough  to  banish  a  worthless  performance  from  his 
theatre.  "  Never,"  said  Miss  Jinman,  "  in  all  her 
experience  had  she  known  artists  to  be  so  grossly 
insulted."  Mr.  Quisby's  position  might  be  am- 
biguous, Mr.  Quisby  might  be  shirking  his  re- 
sponsibilities ;  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it, 
Mr.  Quisby  might  be  a  rogue.  But  he  had  paid 
them  compliments  —  and  Mr.  Omee  had  shut  his 
doors  against  them.  Mr.  Omee  was  the  innocent 
person  whom  they  execrated  and  reviled. 

In  the  quarter  where  the  "  professional  apart- 
ments "  of  Blithepoint  are  most  numerous,  the 
landladies  looked  anxious  in  the  morning.  On 
every  doorstep  in  Corporation  Road,  and  half  way 
down  Alfreton  Terrace,  the  news  was  known  by 
nine  o'clock.  The  lodgers  were  obliged  to  fence 
with  searching  questions  at  breakfast,  and  many  of 
the  houris  heating  curling-tongs  in  the  parlour-fire 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  253 

■were  told  that  it  would  "  save  trouble  if  they  got 
in  their  dinner  themselves." 

Towards  midday  the  Company  straggled  off  the 
pier  with  baskets  and  parcels,  and  the  baggage- 
man was  busy  collecting  the  clothes-hampers.  The 
boards  of  Little  Miss  Kiss-and-Tell  had  gone 
from  the  turnstiles,  and  later,  bill-stickers  came 
along  and  splashed  up  advertisements  of  a  stop- 
gap. The  rejected  comedians  stood  on  the  Parade 
and  eyed  the  work  morosely.  They  had  hoped 
the  theatre  would  have  to  be  closed.  Miss  Jinman 
said,  "  It  was  very  strange,  to  say  the  least;  she 
did  n't  understand  how  the  bills  had  been  printed 
since  last  night!  It  looked  to  her  as  if  Mr.  Omee 
had  been  playing  them  false  from  the  start!  " 

Then  striking  proof  of  Mr.  Omee's  perfidy  was 
forthcoming,  his  brutal  nature  was  revealed  to  the 
full  —  he  offered  to  make  the  stranded  performers 
by  whom  he  had  lost  money,  a  present  of  their 
fares  if  they  liked  to  return  to  their  homes. 
"  Ah,"  said  the  Chorus,  "  that  shows  what  a  dirty 
trick  he  served  us !  "  "  He  has  exposed  his  hand 
there,^^  said  Miss  Jinman;  ^^  wants  to  get  us  cut 
of  the  town!  " 


154  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

And  Mr.  Quisby,  who  meant  to  pay  them  noth- 
ing, but  was  endeavouring  to  make  use  of  them  in 
Slocombe-on-the-Swamp  the  following  week  be- 
fore he  decamped,  told  them  there  was  a  reviving 
prospect  of  a  three  months'  tour. 

So  not  more  than  a  third  of  the  Company 
profited  by  Mr.  Omee's  generosity,  and  the  others 
warned  them  that  they  were  being  very  unwise. 

And  by  this  time  the  tidings  of  the  disaster  had 
spread  from  Corporation  Road  and  Alfreton  Ter- 
race as  far  as  the  Grand  Hotel,  where  it  provided 
languid  amusement,  and  the  plight  of  the  players 
was  known  to  all  the  visitors  on  the  Front.  In- 
cluding Conrad. 

But  it  was  not  until  Friday,  December  26th, 
that  one  of  those  incidents  which  may  occur  to 
anybody  associated  him  with  the  matter. 

It  had  been  misty  since  morning,  and  towards 
the  close  of  day  the  fog  deepened.  When  he  left 
a  house  where  he  had  been  lunching  with  a  man, 
he  took  the  wrong  turning.  So  far  as  he  was  able 
to  see  at  all,  he  saw  that  he  had  blundered  into  a 
neighbourhood  which  was  strange  to  him.  A 
humble  neighbourhood,  apparently,  with  nothing 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  255 

of  a  watering-place  about  it.  This  being  Boxing- 
day,  the  little  shops  to  which  he  came  were  shut- 
tered, and  owing  to  the  weather,  few  people  were 
abroad.  He  wandered  amid  dim  desertion. 
Then  as  he  paused,  hesitating,  two  girls  emerged 
suddenly  from  the  fog,  and  stopped  before  him. 

"  Oh  I  "  exclaimed  one  of  them,  "  could  you  tell 
us  where  Gaudy's  the  greengrocer's  is?" 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  said  Conrad,  "  I  can't.  Can 
you  direct  me  to  the  Parade?  " 

She  answered  absurdly  that  he  was  "  coming 
away  from  it,"  though  he  was  standing  still. 
"  It 's  over  there,"  she  said;  "  you  go  down  there, 
and  take  the  first  on  the  left,  and  keep  straight 
on.    You  can't  miss  it." 

"  I  have  missed  It,"  demurred  Conrad. 
"  Thank  you  for  rescuing  me.  I  wish  I  could 
direct  you  to  Gaudy's  the  greengrocer's  in  return." 

The  other  girl  had  not  spoken  yet,  but  now  she 
said  — 

"  Oh,  never  mind,  thanks,  we  shall  find  it;  they 
say  it 's  quite  near.  But  it 's  too  dark  to  make 
out  the  names." 

It  was  also  too  dark  to  make  out  her  features. 


256  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

but  her  voice  was  delicious,  and  if  the  fog  did  n't 
flatter  her,  she  was  dowered  with  the  eyes  that  he 
most  ardently  admired.  He  was  all  at  once  sen- 
sible of  a  keen  interest  in  the  whereabouts  of  the 
greengrocer's. 

"  That  seems  to  be  a  shop  at  the  corner;  I  '11 
go  over  and  see  what  it  is !  "  he  said  promptly. 
But  it  was  a  general  dealer's,  and  he  came  back 
not  displeased. 

"Bother!  We  must  find  it!"  cried  the  first 
girl. 

"  May  I  come  and  help  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  you  can  come  if  you  like,"  she  said;  and 
added  as  a  pure  concession  to  formality,  "  It 's 
awf'ly  kind  of  you." 

So  they  all  proceeded  through  the  fog. 

"  It 's  such  a  nuisance  everything  being  shut 
to-day,"  the  first  girl  went  on.  "  That 's  why  we 
want  Gaudy's  —  they  say  Gaudy's  live  there,  and 
might  oblige  us.    We  can  ring  'em  up." 

"  Fruit?  "  he  inquired. 

"No,"  she  said;  "flowers  —  violets.  We 
want  some  for  the  concert  to-night.  Are  you 
going?" 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  257 

"  Certainly  I  am,"  said  Conrad.  "  What  con- 
cert?   I  have  n't  heard  about  it?  " 

"  Oh  well,  it  was  only  settled  this  morning. 
We  're  giving  a  concert  at  the  Victoria  Hall  — 
The  Little  Miss  Kiss-and-Tell  Company.  It  's  to 
help  us  all.  Mr.  Quisby  —  our  manager  —  only 
let  me  know  just  now.  I  'm  going  to  sing  a 
'  flower-song,'  and  I  want  some  '  button-holes  '  to 
throw  among  the  Audience;  I  can't  do  the  song 
without." 

"  Throw  one  to  me,"  said  Conrad. 

"  I  will,"  she  promised.  "  We  ought  to  get 
some  people  in,  as  it 's  bank  holiday,  don't  you 
think  so?  And  if  the  show  '  goes,'  we  can  have 
the  hall  again  to-morrow.  The  tickets  are  only 
sixpence  and  a  shilling.  Did  you  see  us  on  the 
pier : 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  was  n't  here  then  —  I  was 
just  too  late.  How  many  tickets  can  you  let  me 
have?" 

"  Oh,  you  '11  get  them  at  the  door !  we  have  n't 
got  any.    You  '11  really  come,  won't  you?  " 

"  I  '11  come  if  I  miss  my  dinner  to  get  there," 
he  vowed.    "  Where  is  Victoria  Hall?  " 


258  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"  It 's  —  I  don't  know  the  name  of  the  street. 
It 's  near  the  station.  Anybody  '11  tell  you.  We 
begin  at  eight  o'clock." 

This  was  all  very  well,  but  the  Girl  of  the  Voice 
had  not  spoken  again,  and  he  wished  she  would 
say  something. 

"  Shall  I  hear  you  sing,  too?  "  he  asked,  look- 
ling  across  at  her.  He  looked  across  at  her  just 
as  they  approached  a  lamp-post,  and  his  most 
sanguine  hopes  were  realised.  He  found  her 
adorable. 

"  No,  /  am  not  in  the  programme,"  said 
Rosalind. 

"  Here  's  a  policeman  I  "  cried  Miss  Lascelles. 
*'  Can  you  tell  us  where  Gandy's  the  greengrocer's 
is?  "  she  begged  again. 

The  constable  did  not  know,  and,  official  though 
useless,  took  a  long  time  to  say  so.  More  intelli- 
gently he  remarked  that  it  was  "  Nasty  weather 
for  Boxing-day,"  and  Conrad  gave  him  a  half- 
crown.  The  next  instant  they  deciphered  the 
name  of  "  Gandy  "  themselves. 

"  What  a  stupid  policeman  I  "  exclaimed  Rosa- 
lind, pouting.    She  pulled  the  bell,  and  glanced  at 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  259 

Conrad.  Conrad  happened  to  be  glancing  at  her. 
"  Your  troubles  are  nearly  over,"  she  said  with  a 
smile. 

"  I  am  not  impatient,"  owned  Conrad. 

There  were  descending  footsteps,  and  a  woman 
opened  the  door. 

He  said  ingratiatingly,  "  I  am  sorry  to  disturb 
you,  but  we  're  trying  to  get  some  flowers.  Can 
you  let  me  have  some?  " 

*'  Flowers?  "  said  the  woman.  She  had  a  va- 
cant stare. 

"  A  few  bunches  of  violets,"  Rosalind  ex- 
plained. 

"  Y-e-s,"  murmured  the  woman.  She  made  a 
long  pause.  "  We  'ave  n't  got  no  flowers  now," 
she  said.  "  N — no.  I  'm  sorry  we  can't  oblige 
you." 

'*  Can  you  tell  us  where  we  can  get  some?  "  put 
in  Miss  Lascelles  sharply. 

"  No no,  I  could  n't  say,  I  'm  sure,"  fal- 
tered the  woman.  ..."  There  's  Peters'  opper- 
zite  —  p'raps  they  might  be  able  to  oblige  you." 

"Do  you  know  where  there's  a  florist's?'* 
questioned  Conrad. 


360  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  Florist's?  "  She  shook  her  head.  "  N-^no, 
I  can't  say  as  I  do  —  not  one  as  is  likely  to  be 
open  to-day." 

"  Let 's  try  Peters' I  "  they  said;  and  scurried 
across  the  road. 

Here  they  pulled  without  effect;  the  bell  yielded 
to  them  immoderately,  but  no  tinkle  came.  They 
regarded  one  another,  discouraged. 

"  You  had  better  leave  us  to  our  fate,"  sighed 
Rosalind. 

"Are  you  dismissing  me?"  His  tone  was 
reproachful. 

"  Releasing  you,"  she  said,  in  her  best  St. 
James'  manner. 

"  My  chains  are  flowers,"  said  he  ornately. 

"  I  wish  you  'd  give  'em  to  me !  "  said  Tattle 
Lascelles. 

"  You  shall  have  them  before  we  part.  Ladies, 
I  have  an  inspiration  I  You  know  the  way  to  the 
Parade  —  let 's  go  down  there  and  get  a  fly. 
Then  we  've  nothing  more  to  do  —  the  responsi- 
bility 's  the  flyman's.  We  '11  take  him  by  the  hour, 
and  make  him  drive  us  about  Blithepoint  till  we 
find  a  florist's.    Is  it  carried?  " 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS   YOUTH  261 

"Unanimously!"  cried  Rosalind.  "Right 
about  face,  quick  march!  " 

And  there  was  a  belated  fly  dozing  by  the  pier. 
When  the  man  had  recovered  from  his  astonish- 
ment at  being  hailed,  he  grew  quite  brisk,  and  de- 
veloped ideas.  He  suggested  "  Mitchell's,"  and 
drove  them  to  a  fashionable  florist's  in  the  Mall. 
Nothing  could  have  been  happier.  Mr.  Mitchell 
accepted  their  apologies,  and  ht  the  gas  as  ami- 
ably as  if  bank-holidays  were  of  no  importance. 
Bountifully  he  brought  forward  his  best  for  them, 
and  his  best  was  as  beauteous  as  it  was  expensive. 

The  warm,  perfumed  air  was  agreeable  after 
the  fog,  and  Rosalind  among  the  azaleas  was 
divine.  (There  are  few  keener  pleasures  than 
taking  out  a  nice  woman,  and  spending  money  on 
her;  and  it  is  unnecessary  that  one  should  go  out 
fond  of  the  woman  —  it 's  so  easy  to  get  fond  of 
her  in  the  process.)  "  Oh  no,  really!  "  she  pro- 
tested —  and  she  meant  it,  for  Miss  Lascelles  was 
already  laden  —  "  No,  none  for  me,  really!  " 

"Just  these,"  pleaded  Conrad;  "they're  so 
pretty  —  it's  a  shame  to  leave  them  behind." 
He  put  them  in  her  hands. 


a62  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"  I  'd  like  you  to  see  some  roses  I  Ve  got  here, 
sir,"  said  the  proprietor;  "  it 's  not  often  you  can 
see  roses  like  those." 

"  Exquisite,"  assented  Conrad.  .  .  .  "And  just 
a  few  roses,  won't  you?  " 

"  Well  one,  then,"  she  said  succumbing. 

"  We  '11  have  some  roses !  "  commanded  Con- 
rad magnificently.  "  And  those  look  nice  —  those 
lilies-of-the-valley.  You  might  give  us  some  lilies- 
of-the-valley,  will  you?  " 

"  I  '11  have  nothing  else,"  she  told  him  in  her 
first  undertone.  The  woman's  first  undertone  is 
so  sweet. 

"  A  few?  "  he  entreated.  "  You  ought  to  wear 
lilies-of-the-valley  I  I  wish  you  were  going  to  sing 
to-night." 

"Do  you?" 

"  I  shall  see  you  there,  sha'n't  I  ?  " 

She  nodded.    "  Yes,  I  shall  be  in  '  front.'  " 

"  I  'm  so  glad  I  met  you  I  " 

He  thought  of  taking  them  in  to  the  hotel  to  tea, 
but  her  companion's  toilette  had  been  very  hasty. 

The  fly  was  as  fragrant  as  a  flower  show  when 
they  drove  away.    She  buried  her  fair  face  in  the 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  263 

blossoms  he  had  given  to  her.  It 's  permissible, 
but  it  may  stir  the  man's  imagination.  It  stirred 
Conrad's;  he  had  rarely  wanted  a  kiss  from  a 
woman  so  much.  In  the  scented  dusk,  as  their 
gaze  met,  her  eyes  were  luminous  —  like  stars. 

The  fly  rattled  into  Corporation  Road,  and  he 
wondered  whether  she  was  going  to  ask  him  if  he 
would  '  come  in.'    The  fly  stopped. 

"Au  revoir,"  he  said.  "Victoria  Hall?  I 
have  the  name  right?  " 

"  Won't  you  come  and  help  us  put  the  flowers 
in  water?"  she  suggested. 

It  was  of  interest  to  see  her  without  a  hat. 
When  she  took  off  her  coat  he  was  captivated. 
He  stayed  about  ten  minutes,  and  the  other  girl 
did  n't  go  out  of  the  room.  Both  went  to  the  door 
with  him  when  he  left. 

"  Eight  o'clock,  then?  "  he  said. 

"  Eight  o'clock." 

"  Whom  shall  I  ask  for  if  I  don't  see  you?  " 

"  '  Miss  Daintree; '  but  you  're  sure  to  see  me." 

"You  won't  be  late?" 

"  No,  I  shall  be  there  when  it  begins.  Good-bye 
—  and  thanks  1  " 


a64  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

"Oh!  — Good-bye." 

He  saw  her  smile  to  him  again  from  the  step  — 
and  the  cab  turned. 

"  What  a  larkl  I  say,  is  n't  he  mashed  on  you  I 
Do  you  like  his  moustache  ?  Has  n't  he  got  lovely 
teeth?  "  exclaimed  Tattie  in  the  passage. 

"  Y-e-s.  .  .  .  He  's  rather  nice,"  said  Rosalind. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

Eight  o'clock  had  just  struck  when  Conrad  ar- 
rived at  the  slum  where  he  was  to  spend  the  even- 
ing. The  exterior  of  the  hall  had  no  sanguine  air. 
Four  opaque  gas  globes  glimmered  over  a  narrow 
entrance,  and,  In  the  obscurity,  a  written  appeal 
affixed  by  wafers  was  barely  legible.  He  made  It 
out  to  be : 

"  Help  the  Poor  Kiss-and-T ell  Girls. 
Stranded  in  the  Town  through  No  Fault  of  their  Own. 
Show  your  Synnpathy  by  Patronising  us." 

Behind  a  portiere  a  disreputable-looking  man, 
wearing  a  queer  overcoat,  sat  at  a  small  table  with 
tickets.  He  asked,  "  Sixpence,  or  a  shilling?  "  and 
Conrad  said,  "  A  shilling,"  and  the  man  said, 
"  Front  row." 

There  was  a  piano  on  a  shallow  platform.  In 
lieu  of  footlights,  some  pots  of  ferns  had  been  dis- 
posed at  wide  intervals.  There  was  no  curtain, 
but  a  screen,  behind  which  giggles  were  audible, 


a66  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

turned  a  corner  of  the  hall  into  the  most  limited  of 
artists'  rooms.  Those  artists  who  were  not  mak- 
ing their  toilettes,  sat  quietly  among  the  audience. 
Perhaps  two  hundred  chairs  were  ranged  across 
the  hall,  and  about  fifty  of  them  were  occupied. 
One  of  them  was  occupied  by  Rosalind. 

"  Good  evening,"  she  said. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  Conrad.  "  May  I  sit 
down?  " 

"  These  are  the  shilling  ones,"  said  she.  "  Oh, 
of  course,  if  you  have!  I  'm  afraid  we  're  leading 
you  into  awful  extravagance  ?  ...  It  is  n't  very 
full?" 

"  No,  I  'm  sorry.  I  wish  I  could  have  sent 
some  people.  Have  you  got  another  concert 
to-morrow?  " 

"  They  're  talking  about  it  —  they  've  got  the 
iiall  very  cheap." 

"  I  might  take  some  tickets,  and  see  what  I  can 
do  with  them.  I  suppose  that  would  be  a  good 
plan,  wouldn't  it?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Rosalind,  doubtfully. 

"Why  'perhaps?'  I  thought  it  was  to  help 
you  all?" 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  26/ 

"Yes,"  she  answered.    "  Oh,  it 's  meant  to." 

"  There  's  a  reservation  in  your  manner,"  he 
said,  "that  —  What's  the  use  of  our  being  such 
old  friends  if  you  don't  confide  in  me?  " 

"Ah,  I  didn't  think  of  that,"  she  laughed. 
"  Well,  did  you  see  the  man  with  a  coat?  " 

"  I  saw  him  with  aversion." 

"  I  thought  it  would  please  you !  That 's  the 
manager,  Mr.  Quisby." 

"  Your  manager,  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  'm  telling  you  —  the  manager  of  the  Com- 
pany that  came  to  grief.  The  girls  are  supposed 
to  have  got  this  up  for  themselves;  but  you  may 
have  noticed  that  you  paid  your  shilling  to  Mr. 
Quisby." 

"A — ah  I"  said  Conrad.  "There  seems  a 
weak  spot  in  the  business  arrangements.  Well, 
what  do  you  propose?  " 

A  youth  in  a  very  shabby  tweed  suit  came  on  to 
the  platform.  He  sat  down  at  the  piano,  and  rat- 
tled the  introduction  to  the  well-known  music  hall 
song  entitled  My  Little  Baby  Boy.  On  bounced 
the  golden-haired  brunette.  She  wore  a  skirt  to 
the  knees,  and  had  made  up  her  face  as  if  for  the 


a68  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

glare  of  a  theatre.  Her  appearance  lowered  the 
concert  to  the  level  of  a  penny  gaff.  Several 
women  of  the  shop-keeping  class,  hitherto  sympa- 
thetic, murmured  "Ohl"  and  tightened  their 
mouths. 

"Isn't  the  costume  a  mistake?"  whispered 
Conrad. 

"Do  you  think  so?  How  would  you  have 
dressed  her?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Conrad,  "  a  long  frock." 

"  Mm.    What  sort  of  frock?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  have  made  her  look  quiet,  and 
very  —  er " 

"  Respectable.     I  know  I  ...  Go  on." 

"  I  should  have  said,  '  Be  pale,  and  pathetic!  '  " 

"  That 's  right,  I  wanted  them  to;  but  they  Ve 
all  got  themselves  up  wrong,  except  my  friend 
Miss  Lascelles.     Sh  I  " 

The  vocalist's  blackened  eyelids  drooped  to  the 
paper  that  she  held;  — 

"  *  Some  folks  want  power  and  riches,  and  really  will  not 
be  denied, 
And  when  they  've  accomplished  their  object,  they  arc 
very  far  from  satisfied; 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  269 

A  fig  for  your  wealth  and  yoxir  power,  for  riches  I  care 

not  a  jot ; 
Contented  am  I  —  yes !  and  happy  —  I  *m  quite  satis- 
fied with  my  lot' " 

**  Inappropriate,"  said  Rosalind  under  her 
breath,  "Isn't  it?" 

The  vocalist  looked  up  again,  for  now  she  knew 
the  words ;  — 

*"  I  'm  not  tired  of  England,  I  've  no  wish  to  roam, 
Xhere  's  a  little  six-roomed  house  that 's  my  home, 

sweet  home ; 
My  house  is  my  castle  —  who  is  my  pride  and  joy? 
Why !  his  Royal  Highness  the  Kling  of  the  Castle,  my 

little  baby  boy.'  " 

When  she  had  shrilled  the  chorus  times  without 
number  she  withdrew,  and  Conrad  said, 

"  Can't  we  go  and  sit  further  back  where 
wc  can  talk?  Look  at  all  those  chairs  over 
there." 

*'  If  you  like.    What  do  you  think  of  her?  " 

"  She  can't  sing." 

"  Oh,  that 's  a  detail.  But  she  does  n't  work 
the  song." 

"  How  do  you  mean?  " 


270  CONRAD   IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"  Did  n't  you  feel  what  she  ought  to  do  ?  Well, 
of  course  you  would  n't !  '  His  Royal  Highness 
the  King '  line  ought  to  bring  the  house  down. 
Would  n't  /  make  it  'gol'" 

"  Show  me,"  he  begged.  "  There  's  nobody 
looking." 

So  in  the  corner  that  they  had  found,  she 
hummed  the  bars,  and  showed  him. 

"Oh,  aren't  you  clever  I "  he  exclaimed. 
"  What  a  pretty  voice  you  have  I  Perhaps  you  're 
—  er  —  fond  of  babies?  " 

"  If  you  mean  *  have  I  got  any  children?  *  no, 
I  have  n't.  That  was  an  actress,  not  a  mother. 
I  've  no  ring  on  —  did  you  think  I  was  married?  " 

"  Well,  you  looked  so  very  devoted,  I  wondered 
for  a  moment." 

"AreyoM.^" 

*'  Suddenly,"  said  Conrad,  gazing  at  her. 

"'Suddenly'  — what?" 

"  Devoted." 

"  I  meant  *  married,'  "  she  explained, 

"I?  "he  said.    "Good  heavens!" 

"Don't  be  so  astonished!  —  such  a  thing  has 
happened  to  men." 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  2Jl 

*'  Yes,  but  I  'm  not  a  marrying  man." 

"  I  think  most  men  say  they  are  n't  marrying 
men  till  they  say,  '  Will  you  marry  me  ?  '  It 's  a 
pity  they  change  their  mind  so  often." 

"  I  have  pitied  them  myself." 

"Them?"  she  said.  "The  girls,  you  mean! 
A  man  begins  to  be  in  love  much  sooner  than  a 
woman,  but  he  finishes  much  sooner  too." 

"  Well,  that 's  why  marriage  was  invented," 
said  Conrad.  "  The  man  brings  the  fervour,  and 
the  woman  brings  the  faithfulness.  You  can't 
combine  better  qualities." 

"  Yes,  and  what  about  his  fervour  afterwards? 
He  wants  to  go  and  be  in  love  all  over  again. 
Haven't  I  seen?  In  this  profession,  travelling 
about,  a  girl  often  meets  a  good  fellow;  I  don't 
say  he  's  often  rich  —  the  ones  who  mean  well  are 
generally  hard  up.  Perhaps  he  's  a  clerk,  or  some- 
thing, in  the  town.  He  's  taken  with  her  from  the 
'  front,'  and  gets  to  know  her.  Then  he  waits  for 
her  at  the  stage  door  every  evening,  and  sees  her 
home,  and  makes  her  talk  '  shop  '  —  he  always 
makes  her  talk  '  shop,'  that 's  the  fascination  to 
him.    After  she  goes  away,  he  writes  to  her,  and 


272  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

by-and-by  perhaps  they  marry.  They  do  some- 
times. Of  course  she  's  to  leave  the  stage ;  he  gen- 
erally asks  for  that  —  the  kind  of  man  I  'm  talking 
about.    Well,  what 's  the  result?  " 

"  She  's  sorry  she  gave  it  up." 

"  No,  she  is  n't.  There  are  exceptions  —  don*t 
I  know  it !  but  in  most  cases  she  *s  only  too  thank- 
ful to  give  it  up.  There  's  no  glamour  about  it  for 
the  girl  —  she  has  lived  all  that  out ;  the  '  little 
six-roomed  house  and  home  sweet  home'  is  the 
only  ambition  she  has  left.  It 's  the  man  who 
finds  the  marriage  dull.  He  was  In  love  with  being 
In  love  with  an  actress.  He  liked  waiting  for  that 
smile  over  the  footlights  —  about  the  middle  of 
the  first  verse  of  her  solo ;  it  flattered  him  to  know 
he  was  the  one  man  In  all  the  audience  who  was 
going  to  talk  to  her  directly.  When  they  're  mar- 
ried she  's  just  an  ordinary  girl  —  like  Miss  Smith, 
and  Miss  Brown,  and  the  other  girls  he  knew. 
The  fairy  has  lost  her  wings.  She  's  a  very  good 
little  wife  perhaps,  but  just  a  drab  little  mortal. 
He  says,  '  How  romantic  it  used  to  be  when  she 
was  a  fairy  1 '  —  and  goes  fairy-catching  outside 
another  stage-door." 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  273 

"  Poor  little  mortal  I  " 

"  Men  want  romances.  When  you  find  them 
out,  the  most  unlikely  men  are  romantic ;  but  when 
you  find  them  out,  nine  hundred  and  ninety  women 
in  a  thousand  are  domesticated." 

"  Are  you9  " 

"  There  are  the  other  ten,"  laughed  Rosalind. 
..."  And  I  'm  not  talking  of  society  women  — 
of  course  I  don't  know  anything  about  them ;  I  'm 
talking  of  every-day  women,  and  us.  Look  at  my 
friend  I  I  suppose  you  'd  take  her  for  a  bohemian 
through  and  through?  She  has  had  to  earn  her 
living  in  the  Profession  since  she  was  sixteen,  and 
she  's  slangy,  and  she  'd  shock  your  sort  of  woman 
out  of  her  wits.  Marriage  is  the  last  thing  she 
thinks  of  now.  But  let  a  man  she  liked  come 
along  I  She  'd  marry  him  on  two  pounds  a  week, 
and  go  through  fire  and  water  for  him,  and  thank 
heaven  for  the  joy  of  hanging  up  the  washing  in 
her  own  back  yard." 

Miss  Lascelles,  with  a  hint  of  coon  steps,  was 
singing  — 

"  '  What  is  the  use  of  loving  a  girl 

When  you  know  she  don't  want  yer  tof  *  " 


274  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"  I  should  n't  have  thought  it,"  said  Conrad. 
*'  She  does  n't  suggest  domesticity  in  back  yards." 

"  Does  she  suggest  a  boarding-school  for  young 
ladies?" 

His  eyebrows  asked  a  question. 

"  There  was  a  time  when  Tattie  was  among  little 
girls  who  walked  two  and  two  in  Kensington." 

"  Really?  Do  you  know  that  hurts,  rather? 
I  'm  sorry." 

"  /  'm  sorry,"  sighed  Rosalind.  "  But  her 
heart 's  sweet,"  she  added;  "  it 's  only  the  bloom 
that  has  gone."  She  smiled.  "  Clap  your  hands  I 
She  's  my  pal  —  you  Ve  got  to  applaud  her." 

"  She  's  very  good,"  he  said,  applauding.  "  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  do  a  flower  song?  But 
I  like  that  one.  Isn't  it  pretty?  I  like  the  way 
it  goes." 

**  Yes,  rag-time  —  all  against  the  beat.  Don't 
hum  it  out  of  tune  1  "  she  said  plaintively.  "  She  's 
going  to  do  the  flower  song  next.  By-the-bye,  I 
may  have  to  introduce  you  to  some  of  the  girls. 
What  shall  I  call  you?" 

"  My  name,^^  Conrad  answered  deferentially, 
"  is  '  Warrener.'  " 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  275 

She  bent  her  head; 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Lady  Darlington. 

When  the  concert  was  over  he  walked  with  her 
as  far  as  Mrs.  Cheney's.  Tattle  of  course  was 
with  them.  At  the  foot  of  the  steps  Tattie  shook 
hands  with  him  and  went  indoors,  and  he  re- 
mained a  minute  saying  *  good  night '  to  Rosalind. 
The  other  girl  might  well  have  heard  all  they 
said,  but  the  minute  had  charm  to  him  because 
the  other  girl  had  left  them.  It  implied  some- 
thing. And  underneath,  to  both  these  shuttle- 
cocks of  temperament,  there  was  another  charm, 
not  defined  yet  —  to  be  savoured  in  the  first  mo- 
ments of  solitude  —  the  charm  of  recapturing  a 
mood  of  years  ago.  At  a  doorstep,  late :  "  You 
look  tired?"  **  Oh,  it's  nothing."  A  pause. 
"  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow?  "  "  Yes,  come  in  to 
tea."  A  whiff  of  the  fragrance  of  his  youth,  a 
touch  of  the  sentimentality  of  her  girlhood,  ideal- 
ised Corporation  Road  as  they  parted  in  the  fog. 

*'  I  wish  It  were  to-morrow!  .  .  .  Good  night." 

"Do  you?  .  .  .  Good  night." 

The  old  tune  was  not  classical,  but  it  was 
pretty. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

*'  I  WANT  something  substantial,"  said  Conrad 
gravely,  shaking  his  head.  "  For  the  follow,  say 
a  Chateaubriand." 

Two  days  had  passed,  and  in  his  mind  a  new 
and  disquieting  thought  had  risen  —  the  thought 
that  Rosalind  could  n't  pay  for  enough  to  eat. 

Truly  she  was  paying  for  a  great  deal  to  eat, 
conjuring  steaks  and  puddings  on  to  the  tables  of 
a  dozen  lodgings,  and  inventing  strange  stories 
to  account  for  her  having  half-sovereigns  to  lend. 
But  Conrad  could  not  know  that.  He  only  knew 
that  the  necessities  of  the  Kiss-and-Tell  Company 
were  more  urgent  than  he  had  understood;  and 
he  felt  very  sorry  for  all  the  girls,  but  his  heart 
bled  for  Lady  Bountiful. 

"  A  Chateaubriand,"  he  repeated  firmly.  It  was 
nourishing.  "And  pommes  soufflees.  .  .  .  No? 
Well,  I  '11  leave  the  potatoes  to  you.  With  a 
chestnut  puree,  eh?    And  let  us  have  nice  sweets. 


eONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  277 

Don't  give  me  the  table  d'hote  sweets  —  special. 
What  about  peaches?  .  .  .  Well,  send  for  the 
best  fruit  you  can  get  —  you  Ve  plenty  of  time. 
Where  's  the  wine-list?  A  quarter  to  two.  That 
table  in  the  corner  —  for  three  persons." 

There  is  one  place  in  Blithepoint  where  the 
chef  can  cook,  though  he  shirks  pommes  soufflees. 
You  go  downstairs  to  it  —  unless  you  choose  the 
hotel  entrance  —  and  it  was  in  the  restaurant 
downstairs  that  Conrad  ordered  the  luncheon  on 
Monday.  He  meant  to  say  things  at  luncheon. 
But  when  Rosalind  and  Tattie  arrived,  there  was 
a  bomb-shell  with  the  hors  d'oeuvres. 

"Mr.  Quisby  has  bolted  1  "  they  cried,  taking 
their  seats. 

"Bolted?"  he  echoed.  "How  do  you 
know?" 

"  Queenie  Vavasour  and  Miss  Jinman  have 
been  to  his  rooms  this  morning.  They  went  to  tell 
him  they  must  have  some  money.  He  has  gone, 
he  went  last  night  —  with  our  concert  sixpences." 

"  I  say!  "  exclaimed  Conrad.  He  was  by  this 
time  almost  a  member  of  the  Company.  "  What 
are  wc  all  going  to  do?  " 


278  CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"  It 's  a  nice  fix,"  continued  Rosalind,  reproach- 
fully. "  I  told  you  this  would  happen,  I  never 
thought  he  'd  be  able  to  take  us  on  anywhere  else 
—  never  for  a  moment.     Didn't  I  warn  you?" 

"You  did,"  said  Conrad.     "Oh!    I  admit  it. 

Will  you  have  a  sardine,  or ?     Miss  Las- 

celles,  let  me  give  you  some  of  the  pretty  ones 
with  the  red  and  yellow." 

"  I  told  you  all  along,"  repeated  Rosalind, 
"  that  girls  could  do  nothing  for  themselves  in  a 
matter  like  that;  that  it  needed  a  man  to  take  it 
up.    Now,  didn't  I  say  so?" 

"  You  said  so  several  times.  But  you  did  n't 
suggest  what  I  should  do.  I  couldn't  menace 
him  with  a  revolver." 

"  Men  are  so  lazy!  "  she  smiled. 

"  You  may  smile,"  said  Conrad  reprovingly, 
"  but  it 's  very  serious  for  us.  We  are  all  out  of 
an  engagement." 

"  Yes,"  she  agreed.  "  And  goodness  only 
knows  when  you  '11  get  one  again!  " 

"That's  sheer  spite  —  you're  jealous  of  my 
talent.  Miss  Lascelles,  tell  her  I  can't  be  out  of 
an  engagement  long." 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  279 

"With  all  his  experience?"  cried  Tattle. 
"  His  notices  as  *  Buttercup  '  were  immense  I  " 

"  Poor  Miss  Jinman !  "  sighed  Rosalind ;  "  I  'm 
sorry  for  that  old  woman."  She  nodded  at  Con- 
rad.   "  You  should  see  her  this  morning!  " 

"  I  want  to  see  her,"  he  declared,  "  or  rather, 
I  want  one  of  you  to  see  her  for  me.  You  know 
we  've  all  got  to  stick  together  in  this  thing, 
and " 

"  And  *  be  loyal  to  the  show ! '  "  said  Tattie. 

"  No,  but  joking  aside,  I  want  you  girls  to  help 
me  straighten  things  out.  I  was  going  to  talk  to 
you  about  it  anyhow.  Now  tell  me  —  what  do 
they  all  want?  " 

"  I  suppose  they  all  want  a  '  shop,'  "  Tattle 
answered. 

"  I  can't  give  them  a  '  shop  '  —  I  'm  not  in  the 
business  —  but  I  might  send  them  home  with  a 
few  of  the  Best  in  their  pockets.  How  would 
that  do?" 

They  lifted  their  heads,  and  looked  at  him; 
and  the  waiter  put  the  soup  on  the  table. 

"  Did  you  mean  it?  "  murmured  Rosalind  when 
the  waiter  had  turned  his  back. 


aSo  CONRAD   IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"Well,  of  course.  Now  this  looks  very  good; 
let 's  enjoy  our  lunch  I  We  seem  to  be  getting  on 
a  bit,  so  we  need  n't  worry.  Don't  you  think  you 
ought  to  take  your  jacket  off  —  you'll  be  cold 
when  you  go  out?  " 

"  No,  I  've  loosened  it,"  she  said.  "  But  —  er 
—  do  you  know  I'd  rather  you  didn't  do  that? 
I  —  I  think  they  could  all  manage  without." 

"Now,  why  interfere?"  said  Conrad  peev- 
ishly. *'  This  is  my  department.  You  have 
bungled  hopelessly  yourself.  By  your  own  show- 
ing you  distrusted  the  man  —  and  you  let  him 
escape,  instead  of  patrolling  his  doorstep  like  a 
bright  young  woman.  Then  when  /  bring  intelli- 
gence to  bear  on  the  matter,  and  we  're  all  happy, 
you  must  cut  in  and  throw  cold  water  on  the 
scheme.    Take  your  soup  and  be  good." 

"  Is  n't  it  nice?  "  said  Tattie. 

"  Now  that 's  a  sensible  remark.  I  turn  to 
you  —  we  won't  be  interfered  with.  Suppose  you 
help  me,  Miss  Lascelles?  Will  you  be  Santa 
Claus  in  Corporation  Road  for  me?" 

"Oh,"  she  faltered.  "You  had  better  go 
yourself." 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  2$I 

"  I?  "  gasped  Conrad;  '*  I  wouldn't  do  it  for 
a  million  —  they  'd  thank  mc,  some  people  have 
got  no  tact." 

"  They  'd  cry  over  you,"  she  said,  with  tears  in 
her  own  voice.  "  You  don't  know  what  it  is 
you  're  doing.  They  arc  n't  used  to  men  who  — 
You  're  a  trump  1  " 

"Oh,  pickles,"  he  said.  "Where's  that 
waiter?  I  say,  we're  all  being  awfully  solemn; 
I  thought  this  was  going  to  be  a  jolly  party?  Miss 
Daintree " 

"  Mr.  Warrener?  " 

"  Please  talk." 

"  I  'm  going  to  talk  later  on,"  she  said.  "  I  'm 
going  to  talk  like  a  mother  to  you." 

"  Won't  you  talk  like  yourself  in  the  mean- 
while?   I  don't  want  anything  better." 

Then  she  talked  like  herself;  and  the  plates 
were  changed,  and  the  hour  was  pleasurable.  It 
was  a  very  uncommon  hour,  because  her  friend 
was  so  nice.  The  pretty  girl's  friend  is  nearly 
always  an  infliction,  and  makes  mischief  after- 
wards because  she  has  n't  been  sufficiently  ad- 
mired.   It  was  such  a  pleasurable  hour  that  Con- 


aSl  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH 

rad  knew  a  pang  of  regret  in  reflecting  that  there 
would  be  few  more  like  it  —  Rosalind,  no  doubt, 
would  flee  from  Blithepoint  as  soon  as  the  other 
women.  Would  he  meet  her  again?  Of  course 
she  would  drift  into  another  Company;  meet  an- 
other man  in  another  town.    Damn ! 

"  I  'm  going  to  miss  that  girl,"  he  mused,  "  and 
know  she  's  flirting  with  somebody  else  while  I  'm 
remembering  her  I  " 

"  *  The  world,'  "  he  exclaimed,  indulging  his 
weakness  for  quotation,  "  '  is  a  comedy  to  those 
that  think,  a  tragedy  to  those  who  feel  1 '  "  And 
neither  Rosalind  nor  Tattie  found  it  needful  to 
inquire  to  which  category  he  was  assigning  him- 
self; there  may  be  sentimental  seconds  even  over 
a  Chateaubriand.  He  added,  "  Let  me  fill  up 
that  glass  for  you  —  you  've  nothing  there  but 
froth." 

It  was  more  than  half-past  three  when  the 
waiter  abased  himself  in  letting  them  out,  and  as 
they  turned  along  the  Parade,  Tattie  recollected 
that  she  had  **  promised  to  be  with  Miss  Vavasour 
at  four."  They  all  stopped  for  a  minute,  and 
Conrad  tried  to  look  as  if  he  did  n't  want  her  to 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  2^3 

go.     However  she  went,  and  he  and  Rosalind 
sauntered  on  without  her.  ..  g.^n  ,,  g„ 

"  What  shall  we  do  (     ne  saiu. 

and  hear  the  band? "  .  . 

•There  is  n't  one  in  the  afternoon  this  time  of 

'' "  Not  in  the  band-stand,  but  I  think  there  is  oa 
,he  pier.  The  band-stand  is  retained  ch.eBy  as 
a  rendezvous,  I  believe.  When  he  says  Where 
wm  you  meet  me  this  eveningV  she  always  says 

'  Opposite  the  band-stand.'  "  _^ 

Rosalind  replied,  "  How  do  you  know^ 
..  I  gather  it.    Pensive  figures  watch  the  clo  k. 
and  look  up  and  down.    They  all  turn  hopefuUy 
;hentheyhearyou,andscowlatyouasyoucom 

in  sight.     I  passed  once  in  the  evemng,    I    el 
myself    such    a   general    disappomtment   that    I 

always  walk  on  the  other  s.de  now. 

The  man  at  the  turnstiles  told  them  that    he 

orchestra  was  playing  in  the  theatre;  and  as  hey 
drew  close  they  heard  it,  but  for  some  Uttle  fme 
t'could  find  no  way  inside.  No  charge  was 
made  for  admission  to  the  theatre  m  the  after- 
In.  and  only  the  entrance  to  the  balcony  was 


284  CONRAD  IN   QUBST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

open.  They  saw  nobody  to  guide  them.  There 
were  no  other  footsteps  on  the  pier;  there  was 
no  sound  but  the  plaintive  music  that  they  could  n't 
reach.  They  wandered  round  and  round  the  ter- 
race, trying  locked  doors. 

The  tide  was  out,  and  the  sheen  of  the  smooth 
wet  sand  was  violet  under  a  paling  sky.  Little 
white  waves  were  hurrying,  and  in  the  faded  dis- 
tance the  star  of  the  lightship  gleamed  and  hid. 

Through  the  window  of  an  unexpected  office 
they  spied  the  girl  who  sold  the  stall  tickets  in 
the  evening.  "  Oh,  yes !  "  she  said,  and  ran  out 
to  show  them  where  to  go. 

Only  two  or  three  figures  inhabited  the  roomy 
balcony.  Below,  the  body  of  the  house  was  soul- 
less, shrouded  in  white  wrappers.  Faint  day- 
light touched  the  auditorium  wanly,  but  gas  jets 
yellowed  the  faces  of  the  orchestra.  In  the 
narrow  line  of  glare  amid  the  emptiness,  they 
played. 

Rosalind  and  Conrad  sat  down  in  the  last  row, 
and  spoke  in  low  voices.  He  knew  that  the  im- 
pression of  the  scene  was  going  to  linger  with 
him  after  she  had  gone. 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  285 

In  a  few  minutes  she  whispered,  "  Let 's  go 
on  the  terrace  again,"  and  they  crept  to  the  door. 

"  We  could  n't  talk  in  there,"  she  said.  .  .  . 
"  Look  here !  what  you  were  saying  to  Tattie : 
I  want  you  to  tell  me  straight,  I  don't  know 
anything  about  you  —  can  you  afford  to  do  all 
that?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said;  "  that 's  all  right." 

"  But  really?  Tell  me  the  truth.  How  well 
off  are  you?  " 

"  Oh,  well  I  ...  I'm  very  well  off." 

"  Because  if  you  're  going  to  miss  the  money, 
there  's  another  way  out,  that 's  why.  I  should  n't 
forgive  myself  if  I  put  you  in  a  hole;  I  bar  that 
sort  of  thing.  Lunch  and  flowers  are  all  very 
well,  but  the  other  's  rather  steep." 

"  I  sha'n't  miss  the  money." 

"Honour  bright?" 

"Honour  bright  1" 

*'  Oh  well,  then  I  It 's  awfully  good  of  you, 
I  sha'n't  forget  it,"  she  said.  "  '  Warrener  '  is 
really  your  name,  isn't  it?" 

"  I  thought  you  understood  that  at  the  time." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  did.  I  only  wondered 
for  a  moment  —  I  'm  sorry." 


286  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  Oh,  it 's  nothing,"  he  answered.  ..."  You 
know  what  I  want  you  to  tell  me?  " 

"What?" 

"About  yourself.    What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Oh,  you  needn't  count  me  or  Tattle.  We 
don't  want  anything." 

"  That 's  all  bosh.  But  you  don't  come  In 
with  the  rest  —  I  want  to  do  more  than  that  for 
you.  Treat  me  as  a  pal.  You  're  on  the  rocks, 
and  I  'm  not ;  I  've  been  there,  and  I  know  what 
it  means.  Let  me  give  you  a  hundred  to  set  you 
right." 

"You  want  to  give  me  a  hundred  pounds?" 
She  threw  back  her  astonished  face  at  him  —  she 
was  all  white  throat  and  eyes.  "  D'  ye  like  me 
so  much?  " 

"  Damnably!  "  said  Conrad. 

The  music  had  stopped,  and  now  the  bandsmen 
came  hurrying  past  them.  They  stood  looking 
shoreward,  in  a  pause.  On  the  dusk  of  the 
Parade  the  chain  of  electric  globes  quivered  Into 
light, 

"  It 's  rather  rough  on  you,"  she  murmured. 
"  Is  n't  It  ?  I  Ve  always  drawn  the  line.  It 's 
no  good." 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH  287 

"  I  did  n't  think  it  was.  I  should  n't  have  told 
you  if  you  hadn't  asked  me.  I  know;  if  a  man 
cared  about  you,  you  'd  expect  him  to  want  to 
marry  you." 

"Why  shouldn't  I?" 

"Oh,  why  not?  Only  I'm  one  of  the  men 
who  are  n't  designed  for  husbands.  I  could 
make  a  beautiful  lover  —  while  it  lasted;  a  very 
staunch  friend  —  to  a  man,  or  a  woman  —  all 
my  life;  but  everybody  has  his  limitations. 
Women  are  just  the  same.  There  are  women 
who  are  made  to  be  daughters  —  they  're  perfect 
as  daughters;  but  they  should  never  marry. 
There  are  women  who  're  meant  for  mothers. 
They  should  never  marry — I  mean  they  make 
very  poor  wives.  Not  many  of  us  are  first-class 
all  round.  Still  that 's  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I 
have  n't  asked  you  for  anything,  and  I  'm  not 
going  to.  If  you  had  been  —  different,  well,  for 
my  own  sake,  I  should  have  been  very  glad!  I 
never  played  '  Faust,'  though,  everybody's  mo- 
rality begins  somewhere  —  it 's  just  my  luck  that 
I  Ve  got  fond  of  a  girl  who  is  n't  '  different.'  But 
there  it  is  I    We  need  n't  talk  about  it.     Put  that 


a88  CONRAD  IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

aside,  and  let  me  help  you  as  if  I  were  your 
brother.  I  don't  feel  like  your  brother,  but  you 
can  trust  me  just  as  much.  I  quite  understand. 
I  'm  not  vain  enough  to  suppose  you  like  me,  but 
I  quite  understand  that  it  would  be  '  no  use  '  if 
you  did." 

She  looked  beyond  him  pensively,  and  pensively 
she  hummed :  — 

"  *  What  is  the  use  of  loving  a  girl 
If  the  girl  don't  love  you? 
What  is  the  use  of  loving  a  girl 
When  you  know  she  don't  want  yer  tof" 

"  Don't  do  that,"  said  Conrad.  "  I  'm  trying 
to  talk  to  you  like  a  chum.  If  you  sing  that 
song,  I  shall  kiss  you." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  say?"  she 
asked,  strolling  on. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  say  anything.  You  '11 
get  the  money  for  the  others  in  the  morning,  and 
I  '11  send  you  the  hundred  during  the  day." 

"You're  not  to!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  don't 
need  it,  I  swear  I  don't.  You  're  not  to  send 
Tattie  or  me  a  shilling.  If  you  do,  I  '11  send  it 
back." 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  289 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  don't  need  it,  that 's  why." 

"  No  it  is  n't.  It 's  because  you  don't  believe 
what  I  've  said.  My  dear  girl,  I  don't  suppose 
I  shall  ever  see  you  again  after  you  leave  here. 
When  do  you  go?  " 

"  We  go  to-morrow." 

"  You  and  Tattie  ?    I  mean  *  Miss  Lascelles  '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  '  Tattie  '  does  n't  hurt.  Yes,  she  's  going 
to  stay  —  we  're  going  to  be  together  for  a  little 
while." 

"  Where?     Don't  you  want  me  to  ask?  " 

"  London,"  she  said. 

"  Have  you  got  any  people  there?  " 

"  No.  .  .  .  The  only  relation  that  counts  Is  in 
the  country  now.  Now  mind !  You  're  not  to  send 
anything  for  us  two,  or  you  '11  offend  me.  What- 
ever you  send  will  go  to  the  others,  all  of  it." 

"_^ave  it  your  own  way,"  he  said  quietly. 

They  walked  once  round  the  terrace  without 
speaking. 

"Are  you  angry?"  she  asked. 

*'  You  've  hurt  rather.  You  've  pitched  it  back 
at  me.     I  don't  mean  the  beastly  money,  but  the 


290  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

intention.  I  think  you  might  have  trusted  me. 
On  my  honour,  I  'd  have  taken  no  advantage 
ofiti" 

After  another  pause,  she  said: 

"  I  'm  a  fool  to  tell  you,  but  I  can't  help  it, 
.  .  .  I  'm  not  on  the  stage  any  more,  I  'm  not 
hard  up ;   I  'm  —  married." 

"Married?" 

"  I  've  been  married  five  years." 

"Good  Lord!"  he  said.  "Well  — Not  on 
the  stage?    What  are  you  doing  here  then?" 

"  I  was  n't  acting;  I  only  came  down  to  be  in 
it  all  again.  I  — "  her  smile  was  wistful,  "  I 
was  '  trying  back ' ;  I  wanted  to  feel  as  I  used 
to  feel  —  I  was  dull." 

He  nodded  comprehension ;  "  Oh  yes !  I  'vc 
done  a  lot  of  '  trying  back '  myself.  .  .  .  Do  you 
care  for  him?  " 

She  gave  the  faintest  shrug. 

"  I  wish  you  were  n't  going  away,"  he  sighed. 
"  I  shall  often  see  you  again?  " 

"  We  're  the  only  people  left  on  the  pier,"  said 
Rosalind.  "  Don't  you  think  wc  're  having  more 
than  our  twopcnn'orth?" 


CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH  29I 

"  I  shall  go  to  town  on  Wednesday,"  he  told 
her,  as  they  turned  homeward. 

"Shall  you?" 

"  You  have  n't  answered  what  I  asked  you." 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  Besides  you  '11 
soon  forget  that  you  wanted  to." 

"If  I  don't  forget?" 

"  Well  —  You  may  write  to  me." 

"Where?" 

"  I  '11  post  you  a  line  before  I  leave,"  she 
promised.  "  We  shall  leave  as  early  as  we  can 
—  as  soon  as  we  've  done  your  business  for  you; 
I  sha'n't  see  you  before  I  go.  By-the-bye,  I  don't 
know  if  you  're  staying  at  the  hotel  where  we 
lunched?  —  there'll  be  letters  for  you  from  the 
Company  to-morrow,  too." 

"  No,  I  'm  at  the  Grand,"  he  said.  "  My 
christian  name  is  '  Conrad.'  " 

It  seemed  a  very  short  distance  to  Corporation 
Road.  It  seemed  untrue  that  it  was  only  four 
days  since  he  had  stood  at  the  door  with  her  for 
the  first  time.  They  went  up  the  steps,  and  she 
did  not  turn  the  knob. 

"Are  you  coming  in?"  she  murmured.  "I 
daresay  Tattie  is  back." 


292  CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH 

"  Do  you  know  I  think  I  'd  rather  say  *  au 
revoir  '  to  you  alone." 

"  Au  revoir,"  she  said.  Her  hand  was  formal. 
He  was  rather  chilled. 

"You  mean  to  post  me  that  line?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 

She  nodded.  And  then  in  the  darkness  of  the 
doorway,  she  laughed,  and  began  to  hum  the  song 
that  he  had  warned  her  not  to  sing. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

He  found  the  evening  very  long.  He  was  rest- 
less. The  memory  of  her  kiss  was  exquisite,  but 
it  did  not  make  for  repose.  It  seemed  to  him 
intolerably  stupid  that  he  was  boring  himself  In 
the  billiard-room  of  the  Grand  when  Corporation 
Road  was  so  near.  Still  she  had  taken  leave  of 
him  —  If  he  went  he  might  be  unwelcome  to  her, 
she  might  be  disappointing  to  him. 

Early  next  afternoon  he  received  the  line  she 
had  promised.  It  arrived  with  letters  from  the 
Company.  They  were  such  deeply  grateful  let- 
ters that  they  hurt  him  a  little  when  he  read 
them,  but  he  guessed  which  was  hers,  and  he 
opened  that  one  first.  Mixed  with  the  pleasure 
with  which  he  opened  it  there  was  the  curiosity, 
even  the  —  he  would  have  refused  to  acknowl- 
edge it  —  even  the  slight  touch  of  apprehension 
with  which  a  man  who  likes  a  woman  better  than 
he  knows  her  always  opens  her  first  letter. 

He  smiled  —  he  heard  her  speaking. 

"  If  you  ever  write,  the  address  is  '  Miss  Tattle 


394  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

Lascelles,  c/o  Madame  Hermiance,  42  bis  Great 
Titchfield  Street,  W.'  You  understand?  You 
are  n't  to  put  my  name  on  the  outside  envelope 
at  all.     Blithepoint  is  blessing  you.  —  R.  D." 

If  he  ever  wrote,  did  she  say?  By  his  halidom 
he  was  going  to  write  immediately!  His  impulse 
was  to  beg  her  to  dine  with  him,  but  probably 
she  would  find  it  easier  to  meet  him  during  the 
day.  Luncheon  then.  But  where?  The  choice 
of  a  restaurant  bothered  him  —  she  might  be 
afraid  of  acquaintances  seeing  her.  He  bethought 
himself  of  the  Cafe  Anonyme  in  Soho,  and  en- 
treated her  to  lunch  with  him  on  Thursday  at 
two  o'clock.  As  a  postscript  he  scribbled,  "  You 
won't  say  you  can't,  will  you?  If  I  don't  hear 
from  you,  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you  at  the  door." 
To  enable  her  to  reply,  though  he  prayed  that 
no  reply  would  come,  he  added  that  he  should 
stay  at  the  Carlton. 

He  was  glad  to  leave  Blithepoint;  when  the 
woman  one  liked  there  has  gone,  a  place  is  always 
distressing.  In  the  train  it  was  agreeable  to  re- 
flect that  she  had  read  his  note  by  this  time. 
Again  he  Imagined  her  as  she  read  it— •looking 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  295 

down,  looking  up,  putting  it  in  her  pocket.  The 
little  Cafe  Anonyme  had  been  a  good  idea.  They 
would  do  their  best  for  him  there,  and  their  soles 
a  la  Marguery  were  unequalled  in  London.  The 
private  rooms,  too,  were  not  unhomely,  they  hit 
the  happy  medium  —  there  was  no  riot  of  red 
velvet  and  gilding,  nor  were  there  rag  roses 
hanging  askew  in  dusty  glass  epergnes.  It  would 
have  been  unappreciative  —  it  would  have  been 
an  insult  —  to  ask  Rosalind  to  be  made  love  to 
in  a  vulgar  room. 

He  wandered  about  the  Carlton  after  dinner 
until  the  last  post  was  delivered,  and  was  relieved 
to  find  there  was  nothing  for  him.  He  was  sure 
that  if  she  had  n't  meant  to  go,  she  would  have 
declined  at  once.  She  wouldn't  raise  his  hopes 
only  to  dash  them  to  the  parquetry  as  the  clock 
was  preparing  to  strike ;  she  would  n't  be  thought- 
less, unfeeling.    Oh  no,  she  was  n't  like  that  I 

And  there  was  no  letter  on  Thursday  either, 
and  he  sallied  to  Soho  with  delight. 

The  exterior  of  the  Cafe  Anonyme  when  he 
reached  It  looked  to  him  a  shade  less  ingenuous 
than  it  had  been,  but  upstairs  all  was  well.    The 


296  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

view  of  the  grim  houses  opposite  was  screened 
by  lace,  firelight  flashed  on  the  Dutch  hearth 
cheerfully,  and  the  little  white  table,  set  for  tete- 
a-tete,  invited  confidences.  He  forced  his  atten- 
tion upon  the  menu,  and  lounged  back  into  the 
street.  It  was  a  fine  day  for  London.  The  sky 
was  funereal,  and  the  pavements  were  muddy,  but 
there  was  no  rain  falling.  He  loitered  before 
the  restaurant  happily,  and  glanced  at  his  watch. 
At  five  minutes  to  two,  expectation  began  to 
swell. 

At  two  o'clock  he  could  n't  hold  back  a  smile 
—  at  any  instant  now  her  face  might  irradiate 
the  blank.  He  wondered  which  way  she  would 
come,  and  if  she  would  drive,  or  walk.  He  could 
see  for  some  distance,  both  to  right  and  left,  and 
his  only  regret  was  that  he  could  n't  see  both 
ways  at  once.  He  kept  turning  his  head,  fearful 
that  he  might  miss  a  second's  joy. 

There  was  a  leaping  moment  in  which  a  figure 
suggested  her  as  it  hove  in  sight.  The  girl  proved 
offensively  plain,  and  he  was  furious  with  her  as 
she  passed.  Somehow  he  did  not  rebound  from 
the  mistake  —  it  was  the  first  fall  In  the  tempera- 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  297 

ture ;  the  girl  had  killed  his  elation.  He  watched 
now  eagerly,  but  he  repressed  no  smile. 

She  was  late.  Oh,  of  course  she  would  come, 
but  the  fish  would  be  spoilt.  Rather  stupid  of 
her  I  There  was  nothing  more  irritating  than  to 
have  a  careful  luncheon  ruined  because  a  woman 
took  twenty  minutes  to  tie  her  veil.  A  melan- 
choly church  clock  boomed  the  quarter.  He  began 
to  feel  that  he  was  looking  a  fool,  traversing 
these  twelve  paving-stones.  He  was  annoyed  with 
her  —  he  should  be  at  no  pains  to  conceal  it! 

Constantly  hansoms  rattled  into  view,  with  dis- 
appointing people  in  them.  There  appeared  to 
him  discouragement  in  the  gaze  of  the  portier 
now,  and  a  pair  of  loafers  outside  the  public- 
house  at  the  corner  were  taking  interest  in  him. 
.  .  .  He  supposed  she  would  come?  Into  the 
tension  of  his  mood  there  entered  the  first  sick 
qualm  of  doubt. 

And  the  church  clock  boomed  again.  Hope  was 
breathing  its  last  in  him.  Annoyance  had  melted 
into  despair  —  he  longed  for  her  too  intensely 
to  be  reproachful  if  she  came.  He  would  rejoice 
over  her,  he  would  unbutton  her  gloves,  he  would 


398  CONRAD   IN   QUEST   OF   HIS  YOUTH 

say  how  pretty  her  frock  was,  and  that  the  chef 
was  delighted  to  have  been  given  more  time  1 

Five-and-twenty  minutes  to  three  I  .  .  .  Well, 
he  had  better  see  what  he  had  to  pay;  it  was  no 
use  hoping  any  longer.     Well,  just  five  minutes! 

—  the  last  stake.  If  she  were  n't  here  then,  she 
would  n't  come  at  all ;  she  would  n't  expect  him 
to  wait  at  the  door  all  day.  ..."  At  the  door!  " 

—  his  heart  stopped  —  the  words  bore  suddenly 
a  new  significance.  In  Blithepoint  "  at  the  door  " 
might  have  meant  at  the  door  of  her  lodgings. 
Could  it  be  possible  she  had  misunderstood  — 
had  she  thought  he  would  be  on  the  doorstep  in 
Great  Titchfield  Street?  No!  how  could  she? 
she  had  told  him  she  was  married.  But  the  ad- 
dress was  Tattie's  —  yes,  she  might  have  thought 
so !  Good  heavens  I  had  she  been  waiting  there 
for  himf  Perspiration  broke  out  on  him.  What 
was  he  to  do  ?  Look  at  the  time !  —  she  had 
given  him  up  long  ago,  she  had  gone  away!  .  .  . 
Oh,  how  could  she  have  thought  it?  he  had 
named  the  restaurant!  .  .  .  Still  it  was  very  odd 
she  hadn't  come.  He  must  find  her,  he  must 
explain!      But  —  but  —  but  she  was  a   married 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  299 

woman,  he  could  n't  go  and  peal  the  bell  and  ask 
for  her.  Wait  a  moment,  what  had  she  said? 
Was  she  to  stay  with  Tattie,  or  was  Tattie  to 
stay  with  her?  .  .  .  Anyhow  Tattie  was  there. 
Yes,  he  could  go  —  he  could  go  there  and  ask 
for  Tattie!  His  head  was  spinning.  What  the 
devil  had  become  of  all  the  cabs? 

Two  minutes  later  the  portier  had  blown  his 
whistle,  and  Soho  was  behind. 

The  pace  was  reckless,  but  to  Conrad's  fevered 
stare  even  the  omnibuses  seemed  to  mock  his 
hansom.  Alternately  he  threw  bribes  and  objur- 
gations through  the  trap.  Where  was  Great 
Titchfield  Street  hidden?  Were  they  making  a 
tour  of  the  West  End  slums?  The  cab  jerke^ 
to  a  stoppage  at  last,  and  he  leapt  out,  and  hesi- 
tated. Nothing  but  shops  confronted  him.  Had 
he  forgotten  the  number  —  wasn't  it  "42  bis?" 
The  next  moment  he  saw  the  name,  painted 
over  a  window — "  Madame  Hermiance,  French 
Laundress." 

It  was  very  warm  inside.  Three  girls,  and  % 
moist  loosely  clothed  woman,  whose  opulent 
bosom   was   partially  concealed,   stood   at  work 


300  CONRAD   IN    QUEST   OF    HIS   YOUTH 

behind  a  long  table.  It  fluttered  with  aerial  frills 
and  scraps  of  pink  tissue  paper;  one  of  the  girls 
was  folding  things  up,  and  making  them  look 
pretty.  He  said,  "  Bonjour,  madame,"  and  the 
woman  said,  "  Good  afternoon,  sare." 

"  Miss  Lascelles,  is  she  staying  here?  Is  she 
in?" 

"  Oh  no,  sare,  she  is  gone." 

"Gone?"  ejaculated  Conrad. 

"  She  did  lodge  'ere,"  added  the  laundress;  "  I 
let  'er  a  room  upstairs;  but  she  go  away  —  she  get 
an  engagement.    You  mean  an  actress,  is  n't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "  I  know  all  about  the 
engagement,  but  she  came  back.  She  came  back 
the  day  before  yesterday,  didn't  she?" 

"  Mais  non,  monsieur."  She  shook  her  head. 
"  She  is  not  come  back." 

"Damn,"  he  faltered.  "  Er  —  but  there  was 
a  letter  sent  here  for  her  —  it  must  have  been 
delivered  yesterday  morning.  What  has  become 
of  the  letter?" 

"Ah,  letters?"  She  banged  an  iron  about  a 
shirt  with  double  cuffs;  perturbed  as  he  was,  he 
shuddered  to  see  the  havoc  she  was  wreaking. 


CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS  YOUTH  3OI 

"  Mecs  Lascelles  'as  writ  me  a  post  carte  —  she 
ask  if  'er  letters  come,  I  send  'em  on.  I  zink  she 
gives  up  ze  theatre,  I  zink  she  takes  a  situation 
wiz  a  lady  of  title.  Julie!"  she  called;  "  zat 
letter  zat  come  yesterday  for  Mees  Lascelles,  it 
go  to  ze  post,  hein?  " 

**  J'-n'-sais-p^j.'' "  called  Julie.  She  sent  a  but- 
ton flying  off  a  waistcoat  without  turning  a  hair. 

"  Ameliarran?" 

"Yes'm?" 

"Ze  letter  for  Mees  Lascelles,  where  ees  it?  " 

"  There  yer  are !  "  replied  "  Ameliar  Ann." 
She  was  sewing  a  red  cotton  hieroglyphic  into  a 
customer's  "tying  bow"  —  near  one  of  the  ends. 
Her  nod  indicated  a  shelf  piled  with  packages, 
and  Conrad  perceived  his  letter  lying  neglected 
among  the  washing. 

"Ah,"  said  Madame  Hermiance.  "Alors,  I 
post  it  to-night  myself." 

"  But  this  is  no  trifling  matter,"  exclaimed 
Conrad,  trembling  with  rage.  "  Miss  Lascelles 
may  lose  a  very  large  salary  through  this.  That 's 
a  business  letter  —  from  an  impresario.  It  should 
have  been  forwarded  without  delay." 


3Q2  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH 

"TlensI"  said  Madame  Hermlancc  calmly. 
"  Julie  I    pack  up  ze  collars." 

He  tramped  across  the  shop,  and  the  three 
girls'  heads  turned  to  the  left.  This  much  was 
certain:  Rosalind  had  said  that  she  and  Tattle 
would  be  together.  Sheer  babble,  that  about  the 
situation!  If  the  note  reached  Tattle  at  once, 
there  was  hope  yet.  He  strode  back,  and  the 
three  girls'  heads  turned  to  the  right. 

"Madame!" 

"Monsieur?" 

"  I  must  apologise  for  occupying  your  time, 
but " 

"  Ca  ne  fait  rien,"  said  the  laundress.  "  Julie! 
pack  up  ze  shirts." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  kindness  —  I 
want  you  to  be  good  enough  to  send  the  letter 
to  Miss  Lascelles  now,  by  a  messenger.  I  sup- 
pose it  won't  take  very  long?" 

"  Mais,  monsieur,  I  'ave  nobody  to  send." 

"Well,  but  my  dear  lady,"  he  said  —  and 
talked  to  her  persuasively  of  paying  for  the  ser- 
vice and  the  hansom  that  was  outside. 

"Alors!"  said  Madame  Hermiance. 


CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH  gOJ 

Expectanqr  bubbled  In  him  anew.  He  would 
scrawl  a  line  explaining  what  he  had  suffered, 
beseeching  Rosalind  to  meet  him  still  I  Would 
Madame  have  the  kindness  to  provide  him  with 
an  envelope? 

It  was  provided. 

And  a  sheet  of  note-paper?  he  was  abased  by 
the  trouble  he  was  causing  her. 

Alas  I  her  note-paper  was  not  in  the  shop,  but 
she  could  offer  him  a  price-list  —  it  was  very 
long,  and  the  back  was  blank. 

This  was  no  moment  to  finick;  the  case  was 
urgent.  He  put  his  foot  on  a  laundry  basket, 
and  the  price-list  on  his  knee;  and  at  the  back* 
of  "  Blouses,"  "  Bodices  "  and  "  White  petticoats 
from  6d,"  he  pencilled  his  appeal. 

When  "  Ameliarran  "  had  cast  off  her  apron, 
he  promised  her  a  sovereign  to  buy  feathers.  She 
was  given  the  post-card  bearing  the  address,  and 
he  let  her  depart  without  a  question.  It  was 
evident  now  that  Rosalind  had  withheld  her  ad- 
dress very  deliberately;  to  ascertain  where  she 
lived  would  n't  be  playing  the  game !  But  would 
the  appeal  find  her  at  home?     She  might  be 


304  CONRAD  IN   QUEST   OF    HIS  YOUTH 

shopping,  visiting,  taking  an  aimless,  fatal  walk! 
Hope  tottered  in  him  again.  The  girls  who 
remained  eyed  him  sympathetically;  he  was  con- 
scious that  they  placed  no  credence  in  his  nar- 
rative of  the  impresario,  and  he  withdrew  to  wait 
where  he  would  be  less  interesting. 

The  street  was  not  picturesque;  for  the  scene 
of  a  lover's  impatience  it  might  be  called  "  pre- 
posterous." The  narrow  pavements  were  so  busy 
that  he  was  forced  to  choose  the  narrow  road; 
and  the  road  was  made  narrower  by  stalls  of 
vegetables  and  tin  pots.  "  Ameliarran,"  he  had 
heard,  might  accomplish  her  mission  in  half  an 
hour.  He  escaped  from  the  marketing,  and  lit 
a  cigar  In  a  grey  thoroughfare  of  comparative 
seclusion. 

"Would  she  be  at  home?"  When  he  turned 
back  he  braced  himself  to  meet  the  crisis.  He 
had  consulted  his  watch  frequently,  but  he  had 
not  returned  before  "  Ameliarran  "  might  be  ex- 
pected. Nevertheless  he  was  too  soon.  He  with- 
drew again,  and  fumed  once  more  among  the 
cabbages  and  pans. 

The  next  time  he  was  not  too  soon.    He  found 


CONRAD  IN    QUEST  OF    HIS  YOUTH  305 

her  in  the  shop,  and  she  had  a  note  for  him. 
From  Rosalind,  or  Tattie?  Rosalind  I  he  knew 
the  writing.  Let  the  girls  gape  I  he  was  n't 
going  outside  to  read  it  among  the  vegetables. 
He  opened  it  with  elaborate  listlessness.  She 
had  not  protracted  his  pain  while  she  framed 
graceful  messages.  Her  response  consisted  of 
eight  words;   but  they  sufficed: 

"  Wait  at  the  laundry.  Throwing  on  my  hat." 
He  doubled  the  girl's  sovereign,  and  drove 
no  bargain  with  her  mistress.  But  the  laundry 
cooped  him  now.  He  closed  the  door,  and  loi- 
tered gratefully  on  the  step.  Yes,  indeed,  he 
would  wait;  in  the  sweetness  of  relief  he  was 
scarcely  impatient.  A  little  drizzle  was  in  the 
air,  but  he  did  not  heed  it.  The  day,  and  the 
morrow,  and  a  hundred  days  broke  into  smiles 
before  him.  And  while  he  lingered  there  —  on 
the  laundress's  step,  in  the  squalid  street,  under 
the  rain  —  Conrad  suddenly  awoke  to  the  exhila- 
ration that  sparkled  in  him,  was  startled  by  its 
freshness.  He  realised  that  fizzing  in  his  pulses 
and  his  mind  was  the  zest,  the  buoyancy  that  he 
had  mourned  as  dead.    It  was  here,  alive  I     He 


306  CONRAD  IN   QUEST  OF   HIS   YOUTH 

reviewed  with  gusto  his  emotions  of  the  after- 
noon, the  hope,  the  suspense,  the  desperation  — 
the  quiver  of  rejoicing.  It  had  been  good!  he 
had  hved  and  felt  this  afternoon;  he  would  not 
have  abated  those  emotions  by  a  jot  I  The  im- 
moral truth  was  clear  to  him,  he  had  made  his 
great  discovery  —  that  a  man  is  young  as  often 
as  he  falls  in  love.  That  Rosalind  had  beauty, 
was  an  irrelevance.  Again,  to  her  lover  a  woman 
is  what  she  makes  him  feel.  Whether  she  is  fair 
or  ill-favoured,  whether  she  is  worthy  or  worth- 
less, whether  she  is  formed  like  Venus,  or  clasps 
him  in  arms  as  thin  as  penholders,  to  him  she  Is 
supreme,  and  while  he  adores  her  he  Is  Young. 

The  rain  was  pattering  more  smartly,  and  he 
waited  under  his  umbrella.  Exultation  was  In  his 
heart,  her  promise  was  In  his  pocket,  ten  years 
of  his  age  had  been  shed  behind  the  door.  And 
at  this  point  it  may  be  discreet  of  us  to  take 
leave  of  Conrad  —  as  Rosalind's  cab  comes  jin- 
gling round  the  corner. 

THE   END 


A  CHARMING  ROMANCE 

The  Greatest  Wish 
in  the  World 

BY  E.  TEMPLE  THURSTON 


9  "There  have  been  few  stories  so  sweet,  so  ten- 
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ple study  of  an  Irish  priest  and  his  Cockney 
housekeeper,  to  wiiom  comes  the  strange  trans- 
figuring bequest  of  a  deserted  girl  baby."  (Edvsrin 
L.  Shuman.)  — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

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who  is  not  over-rich  in  sentiment — rejoice  that  he 
has  eyes  to  read  and  heart  to  feel.  And  *  The 
Greatest  Wish  in  the  World*  is  one  of  them." 
— Chicago  Inter  Ocean, 


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compressed  into  one  book;  a  half-dozen  of 
the  most  vivid  love  stories  that  ever  lit  up 
the  dusk  of  a  tired  civilization.** 

Town  Topics,  NeVf  York 

SIX  CHAPTERS  OF  A  MAN'S  LIFE 

$1.50 

"Victoria  Cross  is  a  writer  of  genius.  'Six 
Chapters  of  a  Man's  Life*  is  a  difficult  book 
to  forget.  There  will  be  much  outcry 
against  it,  but  there  is  no  mistaking  the 
sombre  camestness  of  the  morality  which  it 
enforces.  Review  of  Revietos 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY.  Publisher,  New  York 


By  VICTORIA  CROSS 
PAULA  $1.50 

"'Paula'  is  a  contradictory  piece  of  worL. 
hard  to  criticise.  With  all  its  faults  the 
book  carries  one  along  and  fascinates  almost 
against  one's  better  judgment..,  Victoria 
Cross  has  a  fervid  energy  kept  in  check  by 
a  sense  of  humour  which  has  made  her  book 
in  parts  vital  and  throughout  attractive." 

Saturday  Review 

THE  REUGION  OF  EVELYN 
HASTINGS  $1.50 

"A  study  of  passion,  but  it  is  passion  that 
ennobles  and  brings  happiness." 

The  King  (London) 

THE  WOMAN  WHO  DIDN'T 

$1.50 

"A  striking,  well -told  story,  fascinating  in 
its  kold  on  the  reader."       Realm  (London) 

TO-MORROW?  $1.50 

"One  of  the  most  powerful  novels  which 
hats  come  under  our  notice." 

Morning  Advertiser  (London) 

A  GIRL  OF  THE  KLONDIKE 

$1.50 

LIFE  OF  MY  HEART      $1.50 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY,  Publisher.  New  York 


THE  NEW  WORD 

by  ALLEN  UPWARD 

$150  net 

**  In  this  book  a  man,  who  in  the  broader  sense  of 
both  words  is  at  once  a  scientist  and  a  seer,  has 
undertaken  an  inquiry  into  the  sources  of  know- 
ledge and  the  foundations  of  fai^,  a  review  of  the 
jurisdiction  of  materialism  and  the  credentials  of 
the  idealists,  that  has  worked  out  into  what  he 
himself  has  admirably  de&ned  as  a  'circimmavigation 
of  hope.*  Mr.  Upwaurd'a  equipment  as  a  navigator 
of  these  reef-strewn  and  mirage-haunted  seas  is  un- 
equalled in  our  day.  A  man  of  scientific  training 
and  legal  aptitude,  a  philologist  of  amazing  insight, 
a  debater  with  a  wide  knowledge  of  men,  a  broad 
culture,  and  a  trenchant  mind,  no  Elnglish  writer  of 
the  post-Dsu^vinicin  period  has  approached  him  in 
the  gift  of  putting  into  living  folk-speech  the  tangled 
technicalities  of  the  schoolmen;  no  controversial 
critic  has  had  at  his  command  so  vitriolic  a  wit  and 
used  it  so  magnanimously ;  no  ruthless  iconoclast  of 
intellectual  idols  has  shown  himself  so  conservative 
and  yet  so  able  an  architect  of  intellectual  optimism. 
Mr.  Upward's  inquiry  b  developed  as  an  interpre- 
tation of  a  cryptic  phraise  in  the  will  of  Alfred 
Nobel,  'a  work  of  an  idealistic  tendency.'  Its  pro- 
fessed object  is  'to  forge  upon  the  anvil  of  sense  a 
definition  of  hope  that  will  ring  true  in  the  ear  of 
the  materialist  as  w^  as  of  the  idecilist.*  And  its 
prosecution  it  Socratic  in  its  argimientative  shrewd- 
ness, its  unity  of  purpose,  its  unswerving  directness 
and  its  triumphant  simplicity." 

—Mr.  J.  B.  Kerfoot  in  LIFE 

At  all  h<fkt*0*n  or  tent  poatpaiJ  hu  the  publither  on  receipt  of  price, 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY,  Publisher,  New  York 


'XFORNIA  LIBRAP 


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